The Legacy of Callisto Part 2: The Shadow of Sorrow
by Tabard
Summary: Encountering a pair of unusual travelers on the road, Callisto finds herself a 'guest' of the city of Sparta. With the threat of invasion looming, she becomes embroiled in the city's politics while at the same time attempting to unravel the mystery of a strange new religious cult, and their all too familiar leader. NOW COMPLETE
1. Prologue: Rich Red Apples

**The Legacy of Callisto**

**Part 2**

**The Shadow of Sorrow**

DISCLAIMER

First of all, the characters of Callisto, Xena, Gabrielle and any others from the TV shows Xena: Warrior Princess or Hercules: The Legendary Journeys are the property of Universal Pictures, Renaissance Pictures, and other affiliates. This work is intended purely for entertainment and nonprofit purposes, and no copy right infringement is intended.

_"Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail."_

_ John Donne_

**Prologue: Rich Red Apples**

"FATHER!"

The voice rang out strong and furious. It echoed off the pure set marble walls of the palace, moving quickly down the long hall, through an immaculate set of gilded golden doors and out into the vast throne room. From there, it seemed to resound loudly as it bounced from the thick and luxuriant carpet that ran the length of the room, and then right up into the enormous golden dome that shone with the same radiance as the noon day sun.

Zeus was seated alone on a high backed and ribbed golden throne at the opposite end of the enormous chamber to the doors. His back was hunched over a scrying bowl with a rich red apple, one that was the same shade as the fine carpet beneath his feet, held lightly between gnarled fingers and poised half way to his lips. At the sound of the shouted voice, he rolled his eyes in frustration and, with an annoyed flick of his wrist, he tossed the fruit back into the elegantly worked golden dish sitting on an equally ornate stand of the same design.

Why was it he could never have a moments peace? If it was not Hera interrupting him, it was Aphrodite; if not Aphrodite, it was Athena; if not Athena it was Apollo and so on and so forth, and always about something small, inconsequential and petty. The list of irritants in his life was endless and not a one of them seemed to truly comprehend the magnitude of his responsibilities. A whole sphere of the natural world was his to control and command, and yet unlike his brothers, who were rarely bothered, he constantly found himself inundated with a list of veiled threats, insinuated insults and outright lies that the rest of the pantheon would level against one another. Sometimes he found himself wishing that when he, Hades and Poseidon had drawn straws to decide which of the spheres of the world would belong to them, he had been the one to wind up with the Underworld. At least then, maybe, he would have had a little peace and quiet. Then he remembered Hades' dour temperament and decided that an eternity of irritation was preferable to an eternity in which the sun never rose, and the sky ran black with thunder clouds.

"FATHER, ARE YOU IN THERE!?" the voice yelled again.

With a long suffering sigh, Zeus leaned back to recline in his opulent throne, plush red cushions embroidered in silks and trimmed with a dazzling golden weave taking his weight easily. He lifted one ankle and slipped it over his knee while he slouched sideways in his seat, his elbow resting on the arm of the throne to prop up his chin. It was a posture he had perfected over the centuries of dealing with his many vainglorious children; an affectation of long suffering patience and purest vexation that unbalanced almost all the pantheon save Hera and his own brothers. With his free hand, he began to drum his fingers steadily on the other arm of the throne, sparks of lightning crackling back and forth between their tips as he did so. It was a little heavy handed to display his power so openly, but then he had found when dealing with this particular voice's owner that heavy handedness could work wonders.

The doors burst open and Zeus felt a small flutter of surprise as two gods entered rather than the one he had been expecting. Both strode purposefully across the room, their perfect figures moving with that same self-assured grace that all the gods possessed in abundance. Even lame Hephaestus could move with an air of dignity and self-possession when he felt the need.

The second of the pair was a woman of singular beauty, her cascading red hair tumbling in wild silken waves down her shoulders, but held in check around her crown by slim golden band. Her figure was lean and strong, all taught muscle and long-limbed elegance. She was clad in a supple leather breast plate and sectioned skirt; all dyed a gold that shimmered brighter than the throne room's dome. On her left hand she wore a flared golden glove, and on the opposite arm she wore a tight fitting three fingered archer's glove and bracer. Across her back was slung a perfectly strung bow and flight of arrows. As with the rest of her outfit, all were gold of course.

Ahead of her, a man strutted, almost so her opposite in appearance that it was difficult to believe that they were half brother and sister. Zeus would not have believed it himself were he not their father. The man was tall and powerfully built, broad across the shoulders with strong, thick set arms and a jutting jaw that lent him a fierce countenance. His shoulder length hair hung in a thick mass of tight curls and was black as a pitch night sky, yet it shone with the same luster as his sister's when the light hit it. Like his father he wore a beard, although unlike Zeus, whose beard was long and luxuriant, his was short and kept neatly trimmed and oiled, running in thin lines up his cheeks to meet his hair at his temples. He moved with the easy poise of a warrior born and bred, and his dress was similarly suggestive. Not as eye catching as his sister's shining gold, he was instead clad in more utilitarian black leathers that were embroidered in silver around the chest and across the shoulders. He carried an ornate sword at his hip, it's pommel a crafted skull, perfectly wrought in the finest silver, while the cross-guard was set with a large and flawless ruby that flashed a dark and bloody crimson in the glaring sunlight from the dome above.

"Ares," Zeus nodded to them as they crossed the chamber toward him. "Artemis. How can the king of Olympus be of service to you on this fine day?"

His voice was mannered and polite, but it carried a carefully judged undercurrent of threat that gave both his children pause as they neared him.

As usual, they overcame their hesitancy quicker than Zeus would have liked. On the one hand he respected their strength of will. It almost made him proud in an uncharacteristically paternal way. Then he remembered they were gods, that a strong will was practically an in born trait, and that it was that selfsame trait that served to make his immortal life far more difficult than it had any right to be.

"Did you know about Sparta?" Ares demanded angrily. "Did you know about the desecration of my shrines? The burning of my temple?"

"Hah!" Artemis sneered at her brother. "One small temple and a couple of homemade shrines being effaced and he acts as if his worship is failing all across Greece."

She turned to face Zeus, her eyes wide and pleading, the look of a daughter begging for her father's aid. It was a look that she had learned a long time ago, and she knew all too well how hard he found it to deny.

"It is I who am the victim here! Ares' pride is merely being wounded but my position in the city is being threatened! The Helot's were always a people devoted to me father. To _me!_" She cast a sideways glance at Ares. "Those great Spartan lummoxes have always favoured my dear brother here, and they always will. Rampant testosterone will see to that. But the Helot's father, _my_ Helots are turning on me in droves. Just this last week, I have lost my main temple in the Outer City and a score of my shrines have been destroyed!"

Zeus regarded them both nonchalantly.

"And to what other worship, pray tell, have you found yourselves being ousted? What simple hedge god or nature spirit has outclassed the God of War and the Goddess of the Hunt in the hearts and minds of their followers?" His voice dripped with mockery, but in truth he was concerned. He had not expected this, at least not yet.

"It is a cult, some minor nature worshipers most likely." Ares announced with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The Spartans would never debase themselves to follow its teachings, but those tiresome Helots of hers, well, let's just say they didn't take long to turn in my dear sister here for a new model."

He let out a cruel chuckle as Artemis' cheeks flushed red in outrage.

"How dare you..." she began to reach for her bow and one of the quivered golden arrows at her back. She could not truly hurt Ares, and it was more a gesture of annoyance than a serious threat. His family did love their drama and theatrics, but Zeus still halted her with a withering look.

"Artemis," he said, his voice low, "I would ask that you don't shoot your brother. It always makes such a mess of the carpet."

Ares simply snorted.

"As if she could even hit me," he sneered. Zeus ignored him and leaned forward in his throne, to regard his daughter thoughtfully.

"Is all of this true? Are your worshipers abandoning you in favour of some other 'god'?"

"It's not just some other god and it is not just me!" Artemis protested. "Shrines all across the city and to every member of the pantheon have been defaced! This cult claims they are symbols of a pretender's faith and that the natural order we, the 'pretender' gods have upset, must be set to rights. Does that not sound familiar to either of you?"

Zeus was surprised to hear a tight knot of nervousness in her voice as she spoke, carefully tied off and controlled, but present nonetheless. He lifted his hands, steepling his fingers before his lips and tapping them thoughtfully.

The people in the world below were a superstitious lot. They needed their gods, their pantheons and all the associated rites and rituals that came with them. It gave them a sense of stability and hope to know that somewhere, up above them, all powerful beings were watching and listening. In truth the Olympians were usually far too busy embroiled in the seemingly endless clashing of their mountain sized egos and grand familial disputes to care much for the world below. The majority of the world was less aware of that however.

For something to come along and turn the devoted Spartans and Helots from their principle and patron gods so easily, and especially a goddess as beloved as Artemis, it would have to be more than just some up and coming new deity. It would have to be something powerful, something established, and more than likely something ancient. His eyes narrowed slightly. He did not even need to think really. He already knew who and what it was which moved against them in Sparta, but he was surprised at the speed at which it was progressing.

"Why have none of the others come to me about this?" he said.

"Artemis and I are the main deities of Sparta," interjected Ares. "Apollo couldn't care less about a couple of shrines here and there. Nor could Athena, Aphrodite or any of the others for that matter."

"And you have not thought to visit some horrific suffering on these fools for turning away from their rightful gods?" Zeus replied, cocking an eyebrow at both his son and daughter.

The muscles in Artemis' jaw bunched and Zeus knew he had hit a nerve.

"Unless..." he continued, and began to lean forward dangerously, "...there is something else you're not telling me?"

Artemis could no longer meet his gaze, instead shuffling her feet uncomfortably as she looked at the carpet beneath her feet.

"This cult," she said finally, her voice tight with just the vaguest hint of uneasiness behind it, "their symbol is a bloodied sickle."

Zeus' eyes narrowed to slits.

"Is it now," he said, his voice rumbling with the distant sound of thunder.

Ares turned on his sister, his voice ringing with genuine surprise.

"You never told me that!" he said.

Artemis glared back at him defiantly.

"You never asked!" she snapped. "And it did not seem you would have cared over much either way."

"But..." Ares blustered, caught unawares by the sudden revelation, "...but you know what this means! All the disturbances, the dead not reaching the Underworld in the correct numbers, the weakening of the boundary, Hades' sudden cloistering of himself in his fortress; it all adds up and..."

He turned back to Zeus, his expression one of sudden understanding.

"...and you already knew, didn't you," he said. It wasn't a question.

Zeus leaned back in his seat again, his pose this time straight backed and imperious, both hands clasping the arms of his throne.

"Of course I did," he replied.

"Then why didn't you tell us all!?" Ares snapped angrily, any deference he might have held for his father momentarily forgotten. "You know the danger we are in, the threat this represents! We cannot just sit here! We must marshal our forces and prepare for war! Sparta will only be the first. If this is allowed to continue more cities will follow until our worship and power withers and dies!"

Zeus shot to his feet as Ares finished speaking, the huge sunlit dome above their heads suddenly darkening as if being cloaked by fierce storm clouds, and when the King of the Gods spoke, his voice cracked sharply, a lightning strike against the deathly dark and silence of night.

"Do not try to lecture me Ares!" he boomed. "There is only one king on Olympus my son, and he sees all!"

He began to descend from his throne, moving to stand before the God of War so that the two of them were eye to eye. Ares straightened, his teeth grinding against one another as he glared defiantly back at his father.

"I did not tell _you _Ares, as you are the most fairweather of all my children," Zeus sneered derisively at him. "I _saw_ how you, the brave and mighty God of War, trembled before Dahak and that monstrous half breed daughter of his. I saw how you tried to turn on us, all in the hopes of evading your own destruction! Had the time come for you to stand against us, I would have delighted in the opportunity to show you how foolish a decision that was."

Next to them Artemis was staring at her half-brother, a horrified look on her face.

"So it's true!" she said, her voice astounded. "You _did_ try to betray us all."

"Please!" Ares snorted. "The son will always betray the father! That is our way, right back to Uranus! If you had been in my position you would've done the same."

"No." Artemis gave a definite shake of her head. "No, I wouldn't have."

The God of War gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"None of this matters!" he insisted. "If _he _is rising again, the Underworld is under threat. Hades must be warned."

"Your uncle is well aware of the situation," Zeus shot back. "Even now he is testing his strength against our enemy. So far he has managed to hold his ground."

Artemis shifted uneasily.

"If all of this is true, then that would make Sparta a ripe target," she said, her voice tense but thoughtful. "There are many great souls there, some even granted favour by Ares and I. If the city falls, and they with it, it would be a terrible blow to the barrier between worlds. Hades' struggles would be made all that much more difficult."

Ares nodded.

"For once my sister and I agree on something," he said. "Sparta is crucial. In war the winning side chooses the battleground, and I say we choose to stand there. A line must be drawn against our enemies; this far and no further."

Zeus regarded his son coldly.

"It would seem we are all in agreement on what should be done," he said slowly.

Ares smiled triumphantly and was opening his mouth to speak again, no doubt to try and take charge of the battle plan, when Zeus interrupted him.

"What we are not in agreement on," he said, "is how it should be achieved. Sparta is a city of mortals and it is the mortal agents of our enemy that threaten it. While our interests may indeed be threatened, we cannot forget our roles."

Ares frowned at his father.

"Your point being...?" he said.

"My point being that you, your sister here, and any of the others thinking to get involved, will not. I am King of Olympus, and I am telling you now, unequivocally, to stay out of this."

"Stay out of it!" Ares practically exploded in outrage. "How can you say that? Our worship; no, our very existence is at threat, and you expect us to just sit here and twiddle our thumbs while we wait?"

"I expect you to do as your king commands," Zeus snapped. "The mortal agents of our enemy demand mortal agents of our own to counter them."

Artemis cocked her head slightly at her father, a knowing half smile settling on her face.

"You already have your agent in play, don't you father?" she said.

Zeus turned to her.

"I most certainly do dear daughter," he said. "Nothing is being left to chance."

Ares' frown deepened, his brow now as craggy as the slopes of Olympus itself.

"Who?" he asked, his voice all wariness and caution. Of all his children, Ares was among the most involved in mortal affairs and the god most likely to choose champions for his causes. Those he chose, he coveted above all others, and Xena in particular was his clear favourite. He was no doubt worried that his father had whisked away one of his favourite playthings on some suicidal saviour's quest. Zeus almost laughed out loud as he imagined the look on his son's face when he discovered who his father's chosen champion actually was.

"Don't worry Ares," the old king said, returning to his throne and gesturing to the scrying bowl as he did so. "Your little pets are safe from my machinations; at least for the time being."

Artemis glanced at Zeus quizzically as he settled himself back into his throne, and then crossed to the scrying bowl herself. Standing at her father's side, she leaned over, her eyes widening as she looked down into the shimmering waters that filled the bowl. A broad smile of perfect understanding lit her face and she straightened to regard Zeus, a look of wry amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh father!" she laughed prettily, "This is just _too_ perfect!"

Zeus flashed a fatherly smile of approval at her. Artemis, unlike many of the other gods, had always had a sense of humour. He expected it was one of the reasons why she was so well loved across much of Greece. He shot Ares a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Isn't it just," he said, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sly smile.

Ares' frown had become a glower at this point, his dark eyebrows arching furiously. With a frustrated grunt, he followed Artemis to the bowl, placing both hands around the rim to either of it side of it has he peered into it.

Zeus reached down to the dish of fruit he had been eating out of earlier. He watched as his son's expression changed, at first to one of confusion, then realisation and finally outright horror. Retrieving the rich red apple he had been about to eat before being interrupted, Zeus lifted it to his mouth and took a large bite, the crunch echoing loudly in the sudden silence of the throne room.

Ares looked up, his face pale and blanched but his eyes blazing with fury.

"You have _got_ to be joking!" he snapped.

Zeus and Artemis both laughed.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well here I am, back with part 2 of my series. This story is considerably more complicated than part 1 and will have a lot more moving parts as the main arc begins to kick in. As a result it will most likely take longer than the previous story to complete and updates may be slower in coming. I'm excited to try and do something a little more epic than the previous story which was kept intentionally small and more personal as I wanted to focus on the changing direction of Callisto's character. This time, we are going to get to see just what it is Zeus had in mind for her for face off against. I hope those of you who enjoyed the first story enjoy this one as well and, as ever, if people have feedback of any kind please feel free to review or drop me a line via PM.

Have fun reading.


	2. Chapter One: A Complicated Question

**Chapter One: A Complicated Question**

The dark stone tunnel sang with the sound of metal striking off natural stone. It was a rich, melodic sound quite at odds with the grizzled grunts of effort that accompanied it as a dozen or more men laboured intensely in the dim torchlight that served as the only source of illumination. They wielded pickaxes and hammers that rang loudly as they broke stone and chipped granite. The air was cool down here, and a welcome change from the midday heat outside. In places, tiny rivulets of moisture would run down the walls of the tunnel the men were carving and, occasionally, drips of water would land within the blazing torches with a sizzling hiss. Despite this, each man sweated with the sheer, back breaking effort of their work.

Pelion leaned tiredly against a notched walking staff, bound with a hessian hand grip two thirds of the way up its length, and watched the men toil around him. Like him, they were dressed all in the thick red robes of their faith, the dark crimson embroidered patterns that adorned them barely visible in the flickering half light. Unlike Pelion, most had pulled their voluminous sleeves up to their elbows and tied them off with long strands of yarn to keep them from slipping back down to their wrists.

He sniffed as something tickled his nose.

There was a strange smell in the air, something beyond the omnipresent, musty damp that had been present since he first set foot in the tunnel. This new scent was different, almost sulfuric, and he could feel his nostrils beginning to burn from it. He produced a rag soaked in strong scented herbal oils from the folds of his sleeve and held it up, taking a deep inhale of its rich aroma to counter the noxious air around him before replacing it again.

"Do not stop now Brothers!" He announced loudly over the constant clang of metal on stone. "Our faith is being rewarded! We are almost there!"

A number of the men gave excited nods of agreement and redoubled their efforts, the previously staccato rhythm of their strikes speeding into a frenzy of discordant hammer blows and clanking pick axe strikes.

Two of the Brothers hefted large sacks of discarded stone chippings, groaning under the weight of them, but squaring their shoulders anyway, and beginning the long hike back to the surface to remove the clutter from the work area.

Pelion watched them go as they shuffled up the gradual incline of the tunnel floor, their progress slow but steady. As they walked, they passed a narrow alcove in the stone wall. It had the look of an old side shaft that had been started ages ago but had long since been abandoned. Shadows pooled there now, thick and dark fingers of blackness clawing at the light. At first he believed the alcove to be empty and his eyes slid across it vacantly, but the chill that ran up his spine as he did so made him look again.

On a second examination he saw the other man standing there. Cloaked and hooded all in black robes that seemed to soak up any light that touched them, the shadows clung all about him like lovers, flickering and dancing in the fire light but never moving far from him. They were thickest beneath the folds of the hood, obscuring the man's face from prying eyes and lending him an unnerving, hollow quality, as if he were only made of the robes and shadows and nothing else. The figure cocked his head slightly, as if listening to some far away sound that only he could hear, then retreated back deeper into the alcove, the shadows drawing in tightly around him until he had all but disappeared from view.

Pelion fought to suppress a shiver. Mortius unnerved him like nothing he had encountered before. They had come north just over a month ago, mainly at Mortius' urging. He had not stated the reason for doing so; only that it was their Lord's will that they come here. Pelion had not seen any reason to do so, but at the same time, he also had felt compelled to follow the dark stranger's lead. It had begun to chafe somewhat, truth be told. He had been a loyal Follower for many years now, diligently serving his Lord in any and all matters and doing everything that had been demanded of him by his faith.

Sometimes it had meant pain, and others it had meant... sacrifice.

All along though, he had known that one day the Day of Return would come, and on that day he would be there, the truest of all his Lord's faithful, ready and able to take his rightful place at his side.

That was until Mortius had been released from whatever prison had held him. The robed and hooded figure was a mystery to all within the Followers, yet somehow he spoke with such authority that it was as if their Lord himself were speaking. He had even stated that he was their Lord's will made manifest. Under his control, the Followers they had joined up with in Sparta had begun to expand rapidly thanks to a careful selection of converts in influential positions within the city's lower classes. Soon the poor and the disenfranchised were flocking to the Followers ranks, lured by the promise of their Lord, a god who would not ignore them, or toy with their affections; a god who would one day return to stride the earth as he had done of old, and crush the many pretenders to his rightful throne as master of all things under the sky.

It had all been Mortius' doing of course. Pelion had wracked his brains trying to figure out how the other had engineered it all. He seemed to hover on the periphery at all times, rarely engaging with the few who saw him, or even knew of him. When he chose to do so though, it was always with a purpose, however inscrutable it might be. Slowly but surely he had begun to mould the Followers into something far more than they had ever been before and gradually, Pelion had begun to feel the burden of the responsibilities he had carried for so long as foremost amongst the Followers being lifted from his aged shoulders.

And he hated it.

Every time he saw Mortius tilt his head in silent communion he felt a sickening surge of envy in the pit of his stomach. Why could he not hear their Lord's voice? Had he not been faithful all his life? Had he not done everything in his power to fulfill his Lord's wishes? Had he not been the one to free Mortius, the Soul, from his eternal entrapment in the twilight between life and death? Without him, none of them would be here now, and yet he was feeling increasingly swept aside as events spiraled away from his ability to control them.

His silent reverie was suddenly interrupted as alarmed cries sounded from further up the tunnel, followed by angry shouts and the rapid patter of leather soled sandals on stone.

"Brother Pelion!" he heard a voice cry. The two workers who had passed only a few moments before came into view as they rounded a bend in the tunnel, their crimson robes hitched to their knees as they ran in a stumbling and panicked gait over the uneven floor of the tunnel.

"Intruders Brother Pelion!" one of them cried then tripped and stumbled, crashing to all fours on the cold dank stone.

Pelion moved as quickly as he could to the fallen Follower, standing at the younger man's side and leaning heavily on his staff as he bent to help the younger man to his feet.

"Easy there Brother," he said, as the Follower scrambled upright. "Now tell me, what intruders are you talking about?"

"That would be us," came a voice that Pelion recognised all too well.

He gave a mental curse as he shifted his gaze from the young Follower to a group of men who had just rounded the same bend as before. There were four of them, three of them clad in well worn but equally well maintained armour, and carrying swords at their hips. Clearly sell swords, hired on as guards and muscle for the fourth individual, a pugnacious man dressed in fine silken robes but without the bearing or nobility to carry himself as if he truly belonged in them. His face was well worn by years spent working outdoors under a strong sun, and his hands were heavily calloused and creased from at least a decade or more of hard labour. Still, there was a quiet authority about him that Pelion had taken care to note in the past.

With great effort, the old priest forced a warm smile onto his face.

"Master Soriacles!" he announced as if he were delighted to see the other man, when in truth he was anything but.

He leaned forward as low as his joints, stiffened by a day of standing hunched over in the low roofed tunnel, could manage. One hand still gripped his staff for support as he did so, and his knees bent in supplication.

"How can my Brothers and I help you on this fine day?"

"You can start by explaining to me what all this is!" Soriacles snapped, gesturing to the workers who were still digging behind Pelion.

The old priest turned to glance at the men at his back then looked back to Soriacles. He gave the man his best confused frown.

"It would appear they are digging," he said innocently, though inwardly he was still cursing the misfortune of being discovered.

"For what!?" Soriacles hissed in purest exasperation. "You said you were here to survey the land for construction of a new temple, not to dig way down here!"

Pelion's mock frown of confusion deepened.

"I fail to see the problem," he said.

"The problem is that this..." Soriacles gave a broad gesture taking in the tunnel around them, "...this is_ my_ land! I agreed to let you survey for the temple site since you have been so charitable to the Helots,"

He glanced around him at the men still toiling with their pick axes and hammers.

"I did not agree to you stealing from me!" he finished angrily.

Pelion gave him his finest smile of well mannered patience that so infuriated those not of the faith.

"You think we are here to steal from you?" he said. "And what exactly would there be to steal all the way down here?"

"These tunnels are old copper mines," Soriacles stated simply. "They were abandoned years ago, but they are far from exhausted. I've had to chase many a thief from here since I was granted this land and there are a great many more who would seek to exploit these resources without paying me my proper due. I just had not considered you among them!"

Pelion's smile widened until eventually it burst into a rich laugh of genuine amusement.

"Oh Master Soriacles," he said as his laughter abated. "You could not have it more wrong! Allow me to share with you the reason for our being here."

He reached into his robes and, as he did so, Soriacles' guards noticeably tensed. Soriacles himself only raised a hand to calm them.

When Pelion withdrew his hand, it was clutching an ancient and weathered piece of stone. It was perfectly circular and the face of it had been chipped slightly where a pick axe had struck against it, but the image of a roaring lion was still clearly visible, even in the half-light of the tunnel.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked and flicked the stone circle through the air.

Soriacles snatched it from the apex of its arcing flight and lifted it closer to his eye-line so that he could get a better look at it, his eyes widening slowly.

"Is this..." he began and Pelion nodded in reply.

"We found it just a few hours ago," he said. "It is the seal of Lycurgus, first of the Agiad line."

"But that would mean that the tomb of the first king of Sparta is down here somewhere!" Soriacles said, his voice rising in excitement.

Pelion nodded again.

"Far more valuable a discovery than some long forgotten copper deposits, I think you'll agree," he said.

Suddenly there was a tremendous crash as one of the workers dislodged a large chunk of stone into a chamber beyond the end of the tunnel in which they now stood. Soriacles nearly jumped out of his skin, the stone circle dropping from his grip to clatter noisily against the tunnel floor. He blanched guiltily as Pelion glanced at him and bent to retrieve it, dusting it reverently as he did so.

"I think we've found it Brother Pelion!" One of the workers cried out in surprise and delight.

Without a word, Pelion crossed to the opening, taking a torch from one of the wall brackets as he passed. Propping his walking staff against the wall of the tunnel, he thrust it through the freshly opened gap and into the chamber beyond. He wrinkled his nose as he did so, the sulfuric smell from earlier burning heavy in his nostrils now, causing him to take the oil and herb soaked cloth out again and press it over his mouth and nose.

The chamber beyond was clearly much larger than the tunnel in which they now stood. The dim circle of torchlight did not extend far, but inside he could just make out the base of a marble pillar, carved in the classical Grecian fashion and shining white in the firelight.

"Well?" Soriacles said at his shoulder. "What do you see?"

"What we came here to find," Pelion replied as he withdrew from the gap and handed the torch to one of his fellow Followers.

"Clear it," he said. "We have worked long and hard for this, and we must not tarry now the end is in sight!"

The men nodded and hurriedly began to hammer harder around the fresh opening in the stone while Pelion and Soriacles watched. As they watched, Soriacles turned to his hired guard.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said, gesturing to the workers and a couple of unused pick axes lying in a corner of the tunnel. "I'm paying you aren't I? Get stuck in!"

The guards looked at one another with annoyed frowns. One of them began to open his mouth to speak but Soriacles cut him off almost immediately.

"If this is what we think it is, then I will be rewarded handsomely for bringing it's presence to the attention of the Ephors and the Kings," he said.

The guards just regarded him flatly, and Soriacles gave an exasperated sigh.

"I'll double your pay," he said.

"Well why didn't you say so before!" said the guard who had been about to speak previously.

"Come on lads," he said to the other two men. "We've got ourselves a tomb to uncover."

The three guards moved to join the workers, grabbing the spare pick axes and attacking the stone with a fresh vigour that the other workers had long since run out of. Pelion did his best to keep a disgusted sneer from his face as he watched them. Where was their faith? Where was their belief in something beyond what they could truly comprehend? Could they only understand the world in terms of gold and violence? Were they really that empty; that spiritually dead? He found himself wondering how much they would be willing to sacrifice for their precious dinars. Would they sacrifice anything? Indeed, did they even understand what sacrifice, true sacrifice, even was?

Without thinking, he glanced distractedly over his shoulder toward the alcove where he had seen Mortius earlier. The shadows still clustered there, seemingly immune to the flickering firelight, but of the tall and hooded man there was no sign.

A second resounding crash of stone echoed down the tunnel as more of the back wall was dislodged, snapping Pelion's gaze back to the opening that had been created by the workers. Now it gaped wide but strangely, not dark. A curious sickly yellow light shone dimly from within the chamber beyond, and the burning sulfuric smell was now stronger than it had ever been before.

Clutching the cloth tighter he walked forward through the assembled guards and, hitching his robes to his knees, he stepped across the threshold and into the dimly lit chamber beyond. Several workers followed, the guards and Soriacles close behind, bringing torches that they had been using to light the main tunnel with them. As they set foot inside, the firelight from the torches ate away at the shadows hungrily, unveiling the true majesty of the chamber in which they now found themselves.

They had entered through a side wall, emerging behind a long row of alternating marble Grecian pillars and statues. At the opposite end of the room, a similar row of pillars and statues ran parallel to the first. Each statue was of an ancient hoplite warrior, intricately carved down to the smallest detail and then posed heroically with legs parted and chest thrust forward. In one hand each statue clutched a true bronze shield of the finest craftsmanship while in the other they carried a long fighting spear, each one outstretched to meet the spear from a statue on the opposite row so that the blades were touching to form a sharp series of arches.

Cautiously, Pelion pushed on inside, moving out from behind the pillars and onto the chamber's main concourse. At his back, the chamber's true entrance was now little more than a ruined arch filled with the collapsed remains of an ancient ceiling. Clearly it had caved in and become forgotten long ago, leaving the chamber and its mute guardians sealed off in darkness for centuries. It was the other end of the chamber that interested him though.

With a nod to the workers who had entered with him, the group began to move the length of the room, one or two of them glancing suspiciously at the statues and their flat emotionless marble eyes as if they expected the statues to grind into motion at any minute. Soriacles and his men followed close behind, their mouths agape at the sight before them as they tried to take everything in. The silence in the chamber was almost palpable. It hung heavy over everything, and the thick layer of dust covering the floor deadened their footsteps to little more than a dry rustle. The only other sound to be heard came from the rasping crackle of the torches and the creaking leather armour of Soriacles' guards.

Slowly and cautiously they passed between the lines of statues, the touching spears above their heads looming starkly in the half-light. Pelion could sense the unease of his Brothers. The thick sulfuric odour burned stronger and stronger the further they advanced, and the silent brooding statues seemed to hem them in on all sides.

Eventually they came to a small series of steps that led up to a raised platform of the same marble that the pillars and statues were made of. On the platform sat a huge round sarcophagus. It was all fashioned from stone, and had been cut in the shape of a large round shield similar to the ones the statues carried. The lid of the sarcophagus itself had been worked as if it were a shield, and, laid out on top of it in a serene death pose, was a carefully carved representation of a bearded man. His cheeks were flat and lined by the rigours of time, and his nose was a fierce aquiline shape that lent him a hard, hawk-like aspect.

Soriacles stepped past him to stand at the ancient sarcophagus, his hands running over the surface of the stone with the same reverence he had displayed when holding the seal earlier. He now clutched that same seal in his right hand and he lifted it slowly to compare it to a raised section of the stone, his fingers pushing and probing against it.

"I need light," he said simply, waving one of his guards to his side as he leaned in close to study the markings more intently.

Pelion ignored him. The tomb was of no interest to him, nor to the rest of the Brothers. Its presence here was incidental at best. The real reason he had come here lay just beyond. Without a word he stepped around the tomb and moved to the edge of the raised marble platform. Instead of coming up against a wall or retreating back into the chamber floor, the platform dropped away sharply into a strange underground lake. The lake's contents were not water however. Instead it was filled with a noxious yellow looking fluid. It seemed to give off a sickly yellow glow; the one Pelion had noted earlier, and from the increasing strength of the odour, Pelion could guess quite reliably that they had found the source of the strange smell that had been tormenting him. The strange yellow substance unnerved Pelion in a similar manner to how Mortius did. It was unnaturally still, it's surface completely unmoving, as smooth and shining as polished glass. The slight gusts of air wafting in from the fresh opening they had made upon their entrance did not so much as stir a ripple across it, and the pungent smell was it its worst here.

He looked up from the eerie stillness to a thin shaft of sunlight that was pouring in through a small gap in the stone high above their heads. It was as if it were a finger of the pretender gods, stabbing down from high on Olympus and into the lake below. It never touched the sickly yellow surface of the lake however. Instead it lit upon a small outcrop of stone, little more than a mound really, that rose out of the water like the misshapen hump back of a whale in the ocean. Rough steps had been carved into the isle, and they ran up to its apex where a small alter had been built. Upon the altar, something had been laid out. It glinted in the sunlight, but was too small and too far away for Pelion to make out.

At the base of the stairs on the distant isle, a thin spike had been driven into the ground, an ancient but still secure looking rope tied off on it. It stretched taught and back across the surface of the lake toward them, and Pelion let his gaze follow it until he caught sight of another spike fixed firmly to the marble platform. Unlike the spike on the island, something else was secured to this spike; a small ferry made from lacquered wood with a carved effigy of a sea siren worked in gold leaf at its prow.

"This is tremendous!"

Pelion frowned, distracted from his observations by Soriacles' sudden and unexpected announcement.

"I'm sorry?" he said turning to face the other man.

Soriacles was brandishing the stone seal and gesturing animatedly at the decorative stonework that wound its way across the carved stone sarcophagus.

"The symbols!" he said excitedly. "They're identical! This is Lycurgus' tomb!"

"Did you ever doubt it?" Pelion said, completely unimpressed.

"I just didn't think... I... I never imagined it would be..." Soriacles trailed off as he stared in awe at the sarcophagus.

"The first King of Sparta," he whispered softly to himself, then turned to the guards who had accompanied him. "A descendant of Ares and the gods themselves!"

Pelion's frown darkened and his eyes narrowed. This obsession with Lycurgus' tomb was becoming bothersome.

"We should head to the city," Soriacles announced loudly. "The Ephors and the Kings will reward us all handsomely for this! King Leonidas will be most pleased to here that his ancestor's tomb has been uncovered! I must tell them at once!"

Pelion gave a polite cough, interrupting the other man as he reached the height of his excitement.

"I'm afraid I cannot permit you to do that," he said softly.

Soriacles rounded on him, a look of surprise writ large across his face.

"And why is that?" he said, anger lending his voice a sharp edge.

Pelion folded his arms into the voluminous sleeves of his robes and gave a soft, placating smile.

"Because my Brothers and I have need of this place," he said, "and our need is greater than yours. We cannot allow to leave this place, knowing what you have seen here."

Soriacles' eyes narrowed dangerously, and he gestured to his three guards. Each man drew their swords, the familiar rasping of metal on leather sheaths sounding doubly loud in the too-calm stillness of the chamber.

"Is that so?" Soriacles said threateningly. "And you and your little band of_ unarmed_ zealots here plan to stop me how?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Pelion caught a strange flicker behind Soricales and his men. The shadows there were twisting and skittering, dancing awkwardly against the torchlight in a most unnatural way. His smile widened and he stepped forward toward the nearest of the guards, his arms spread wide and his head bowed in supplication.

"You are right of course," he said. "We have no weapons and are but simple Followers of our Lord's words."

As he drew up before the other man, he dropped to his knees, the dust coating his robes thickly as he did so. He never looked up, keeping his eyes downcast the whole time.

"Our lord has decreed to us that this place will mark a turning point in our great work. From here, the road to his Return lies wide and untrodden before us. We cannot allow you to stop us from walking upon that path."

He lifted his head and stared hard at the guard above him, sword raised and poised to strike at Soriacles' command.

"My faith is of the most sincere conviction," he said. "I am prepared to die for what I believe, but the true question is, are you?" The man looked confused and glanced to Soriacles over his shoulder.

"You want me to waste this loon?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Soriacles opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak the shadows around the men came alive. Pelion could barely see what happened, Mortius moved so fast. The sickle ended staff he carried whirled out of the darkness, its blade a slim flashing line of purest silver as it struck the guard's hands from his wrists. The man fell back with a howl of agony and terror, his sword clattering loudly to the floor as Mortius emerged fully from the shadows in a vicious spin that brought the staff around again. This time the strike separated the guard's head from his shoulders, and the corpse collapsed unmoving to the floor.

"Apparently not," Pelion said, giving the other guards a triumphant smile.

They had closed up around Soriacles, but already he could see the doubt behind their eyes as Mortius advanced on them and their swords trembled uncertainly in their grips. Their Lord's Soul moved like a coiled serpent, his every motion hypnotic and deliberate. The shadows twirled and cavorted madly at his feet and stretched out in all directions from him like grasping fingers splayed darkly across the ancient stones.

One of the guards could take no more. With a strangled cry of despair he turned to flee. Mortius struck with the same speed and surety of a viper, the staff practically humming as it lashed out, the blade catching the man in a vertical line down his back. He dropped instantly as Mortius twisted at the waist, his black robes flying and his staff whipping around and through the final guard's defence as if it were not even there. The thin silver blade buried itself up to the half way point just below the man's ribs and he coughed in surprise, blood flecking his lips as Mortius yanked it free.

Soriacles, showing more spine than any of his guards, gave a powerful bellow of anger and hurled himself at the shadowy terror that had just dispatched his three sell swords. Mortius did not even seem to move. One moment he was standing with his back to Soriacles, the next he was facing the opposite way, thin palid fingers wrapped in a vice like grip around the other man's throat. With seemingly no effort, he lifted Soriacles above off the dusty floor, the other man's feet kicking futilely at him as he did so.

"Who... are you... people!" Soriacles managed to choke out as Mortius' fingers tightened.

"That, I'm afraid, is a complicated question," Pelion replied as he stepped up next to Mortius to look Soriacles in the eye.

"We are a myriad different faces," he began theatrically. "Sons and daughters, uncles and aunts, fathers and mothers, but one and all we are Brothers and Sisters; Brothers and Sisters who were each of us wronged by a cruel world lorded over by uncaring and indifferent gods."

Mortius remained silent. He turned and began to carry the struggling man with careful deliberateness across the chamber, the crawling shadows bunching tightly at his feet as he went. Pelion turned to follow him, continuing his speech as he did so.

"We all of us have suffered," he said gesturing to the other Followers now gathering around them as they approached the edge of the lake, "but we all of us also found peace in the embrace of our Lord's will. Now we follow his wishes, so that he might one day step out into the world and wreak his terrible revenge on those who wronged him so long ago. It is in his vengeance on the world that so too will ours be exacted."

Soriacles pounded helplessly against Mortius' iron grip, his eyes rolling in terror as the tall hooded figure thrust him out over the edge of the marble to dangle helplessly above the vile yellow lake below.

"We will not be dissuaded from our task," Pelion continued matter-of-factly. "We have, each of us, faced our deepest fears and uncertainties. Our faith was tested in a crucible of self knowledge and self doubt, and none of us have been found wanting."

He lifted a hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully.

"Tell me something Soriacles," he said. "Have you ever been tested in such a manner? It is a most enlightening experience, I can assure you."

He lifted a finger to tap ponderously against his lips.

"What would such a test do to you I wonder? Would it help you understand us, maybe even join us? Would you emerge from it a changed man, greater and stronger for the enlightenment it provided?"

Without a word, Mortius released his grip and Soriacles dropped like a stone into the sickly yellow waters beneath them. They reacted the same way as normal water would as he crashed down into them, thick ropey droplets splashing out in all directions as he vanished beneath the surface. Pelion watched the surface of the water with interest. It calmed quicker than he would have expected, until it was almost completely still again, only occasional ripples spreading out into the darkness.

"I guess not," he said, a note of disappointment in his voice as he began to turn away.

Suddenly the calm, still surface erupted and Soriacles emerged with his mouth gaping wide as he gasped for breath. Pelion whirled back to face him, his eyes alight with surprise and fascination. Blood streamed from Soriacles' nose in dark crimson rivulets and his eyes rolled in unfocused terror. He thrashed at the surface of the lake, striking out desperately for the edge of the marble platform, leaving a churning series of frothing yellow waves in his wake.

"Get him out of there!" Pelion barked at the Followers clustered around him.

A number of the Brothers nodded and immediately dropped to their knees, hauling Soriacles' thrashing form from the water and up onto the platform where they deposited him unceremoniously on his back. His breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his chest heaving and his pupils dilated so wide that nearly the entire of his iris was distended. His fingers curled and clawed futilely at invisible phantoms in the air, and he let out a pathetic whimper.

Pelion leaned in close, examining the process intently.

"What do you see?" he whispered to the other man. Soriacles' response was not what he had expected.

"I'm not a slave!" the other man shouted aloud to the air. It didn't seem directed at any of them in particular. Instead his eyes seemed to have fixed on some far away place and time.

"You can't take me back!" he continued, his voice on the edge of breaking "I won't let you! Do you hear me!? I WILL NEVER LET YOU TAKE ME BACK!"

His arms began to flail desperately in the air as if he were fighting off invisible attackers and then, with a final scream so loud it made Pelion wince, his breath rattled in his throat and his eyes rolled back in his head, his heaving chest falling still and silent.

"Perfect," Pelion heard Mortius say behind him,

"Indeed great Soul," he said. "But perhaps too perfect? What good is finding this place if people cannot survive the process?"

Pelion felt the same pallid hand that had choked Soriacles fall upon his shoulder. It was supposed to be a comradely gesture, one of brotherhood and friendship, but there was something too calculated about how it was done. The timing of it was too mannered, the grip a shade too firm and the words that followed had no warmth to them.

"In smaller doses I have no doubt the effects will be more in line with our needs," he said, his voice dry and matter of fact.

Pelion gritted his teeth in frustration. How could he know that? To ensure smaller doses would mean testing it, and to test it would doubtless mean using their Brothers to do so. Still, he supposed, those who could not survive were doubtless weak in the eyes of their Lord.

"I would have preferred he live," Pelion waved in the direction of Soriacles. "He would've been of more value alive."

"Perhaps, although I think dead he may ultimately be of more use to us..." Mortius cocked his head in that manner he had where it seemed their Lord was speaking to him from across the narrow but infinite divide between the lands of the living and the dead.

"...In fact," he continued. "I'm certain of it."

He pulled Pelion to his feet and twisted his head to address the other Followers standing around them. He gestured to Soriacles' body with his staff.

"Take it outside. It will be of use later." He turned back to face Pelion. "Now come, faithful Pelion. Our work here is not done just yet, and we have something to discuss before it is."

He began to move off across the marble platform, Pelion walking close behind him as they left the other Followers to haul the body out of the chamber.

"What is it that you would discuss with me?" Pelion asked as they walked across the platform, hoping it would be short and simple. In truth, Mortius did not just unnerve him. He truly frightened him. He had not expected their Lord's Soul to be quite so stark and terrifying and he certainly had not expected him to be quite so fearsome with that staff.

"As you know, our Lord turns restlessly in his prison." Mortius said as they walked. "The day of his Return draws near, but it has been a long time in coming and many of the Followers have become scattered and divided, their purpose lost or forgotten. That is why we have come here. It is time to draw the Followers closer together; time to bind them tightly to one will, and one will alone; the will of our Lord."

"This," he gestured the glowing yellow lake beneath them, "will help us do just that."

"I understand I think, great Soul," Pelion nodded, not entirely sure that he actually did.

Together they reached the edge of the platform above the small wooden ferry Pelion had noticed earlier. Mortius stepped nimbly down into it; his foot falls so light and assured that the boat barely rocked as he did so. Pelion followed behind him, decidedly less gracefully, causing the boat to rock and turn. Mortius reached out a hand to the long rope that stretched between the platform and the distant island of stone out in the middle of the lake. Without any seeming effort on his part, he pulled hard on the rope and the boat glided forward over the sickly yellow water. Pelion eyed the surface of the lake suspiciously. After what had happened to Soriacles he did not want to fall in himself for fear of what he might be made to see.

"The Followers must be united if we are to succeed," Mortius continued as he pulled them across the water. "The barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead must be laid low if we are to bring him back into this world."

"We will not be found wanting," Pelion said stiffly, not entirely sure what the other man was driving at. "We will prove our value to our Lord."

Mortius turned suddenly to regard Pelion, and even though he could not see the other man's eyes beneath the shadows of his hood, he knew he was being scrutinized intently. The taller man cocked his head slightly and the shadows that clung to him seemed to reach out to gently caress the hem of Pelion's own scarlet robes. At the very edge of hearing he thought he could make something out, a faint whisper, no louder than a leaf rustling in the breeze. Was it even really there, or just a figment of his imagination? He could not truly decide.

"Most faithful Pelion," Mortius began, "You have no need to prove your faith, nor your steadfastness. For decades you have served faithfully and shown loyalty to our Lord's cause above and beyond that of any other."

He turned away, his attention fixed on the island before them.

"In ages past, when our Lord still walked in the world of the living, the Followers held a triumvirate of power as foremost amongst them. Each point of this triumvirate, the Soul, the Strength and the Faith, stood as a cornerstone of our Lord's being."

The boat bumped softly against the natural rock that made up the island, rocking slightly in the water as it did so. Mortius stepped out of the boat with the same easy grace he had entered it with, while Pelion had to lift his robes to his knees to follow suit, clambering overboard and onto the island in a much more ungainly fashion.

"In the past we spoke in his place," Mortius continued as they walked up the steps toward the small altar Pelion had seen earlier. "We were voices for each distinct face of his multifaceted brilliance. I, as the Soul, am the apex of the triumvirate, but two more positions now stand unoccupied."

He regarded Pelion steadily.

"It is time they were filled," he said.

"By me?" Pelion asked, trying to keep a note of presumptuousness out of his

Mortius cocked his head again, his staff resting easily in the crook of his elbow.

"One of them, yes."

Pelion felt his heart swell with pride inside him. He was being chosen! After all his years of faithful service, his Lord had finally chosen to grant him his favour!

Attempting to still appear humble, he fell to his knees, prostrating himself at Mortius' feet.

"Please great Soul!" he begged, trying to inject humility into his voice. "I am not worthy of such an honour."

It was an utter lie and both knew it. Mortius only watched him coolly.

"You can think of any better?" he said dryly.

Pelion paused in his groveling and lifted his gaze to stare up into the dark recesses of Mortius' hood. A thin lipped smile spread across his face. He should have known Mortius would not fall for such an obvious and affected display of piety.

"Come to think of it, not really, no," he said.

Mortius nodded,

"Good," he said. "Our Lord has already chosen, and he does not like to be second guessed, especially by his own subjects. Now come, stand beside me faithful Pelion, be my Brother in a way no other among the Followers is."

With that he reached out, proffering Pelion his hand. The old Priest regarded it for a moment, then took it firmly in his own. Mortius' grip was like bands of chill iron coiled tightly around Pelion's forearm. With a sharp tug, he pulled Pelion to his feet, the old man's knees cracking loudly as he went.

"Now we are as one," Mortius continued, his voice cold, the words coming out in a measured cadence, as if he were reciting some ancient stanza. "Together we are our Lord's Soul, and his Faith, our fates entwined under his watchful eye."

Suddenly he released his grip on Pelion's arm, and turned away again, striding off up the steps to stand before the altar as if nothing had ever happened.

The thin shaft of sunlight from above shone brightly off an object laid out on the altar. Mortius stood over it, his back straight as he regarded it with a chill stare.

"You said a triumvirate," Pelion said, as he drew up alongside him, "three cornerstones; Soul, Strength and Faith?"

"I did," Mortius nodded.

"Well, if I am to be the Faith, and you are already the Soul, then who is to be the Strength?"

Mortius said nothing at first. Instead he leaned down over the altar, reaching out to lift the object from it, raising it up to his eye-line so that it shone brightly in the thin ray of sunlight.

Pelion frowned at the object, confused. It was an amulet, and quite a plain one at that. Worked in simple gold and with no elaborate engravings or decoration, its only distinguishing feature was a carved shard of blackest obsidian set at its center that seemed to soak up any light that touched it.

As Pelion stared at it, he began to feel a curious tugging sensation in the depths of his soul.

"That…" Mortius said finally in answer to his question, "…is yet to be decided."


	3. Chapter Two: Wayfarers

**Chapter Two: Wayfarers**

The stone was cold beneath her when she awoke; a slab of smooth but chill, dry granite that sent shivers down her spine. Opening her eyes to a dim half-light of skittering torches and thick shadows, she glanced around the room warily. The dull, grey stone that surrounded her gave her a growing sense of unease. She had been here before but, try as she might, she could not remember when or why.

Slowly, she eased herself up off the slab, shaking her head against the dull fog that seemed to have settled over her mind. All she could see was a simple wooden door flanked on both sides by bracketed torches. Her ears pricked as somewhere at the edge of hearing, a soft mocking laugh sounded. It was a sound that, like the chamber, she was already familiar with, and the more she listened to it, the more she felt her stomach turn in discomfort.

With a frown, she clambered down to the floor, twisting her head in search of the source of the laughter while she reached over her shoulder instinctively. The frown deepened as her hand met nothing but air. The sword that always hung at her back was missing. Where could it have gone? How had she even come to be here? It was all so muddled but, at the same time, achingly familiar. Something was supposed to happen now; she was sure of that. Something that would change her life forever. With no other options immediately presenting themselves, she stood stock still and waited.

Nothing happened.

Her eyes narrowed as she listened intently. Even the laughter had stopped. All that was left in its place was silence. With a grunt of frustration, she started for the door. She may not be able to remember how she had come to be here, or where she even was for that matter, but she had a distinct recollection of what lay beyond the room. A corridor of the same dull stone would greet her, one lit by more torches that would flare into life as she approached and extinguish themselves once she had passed.

Confident of what awaited her, she yanked the door open with a fierce tug. It was not the corridor she had expected. It was something far more haunting. A large, long neglected room stretched out in front of her. Piles of debris lay scattered across an uneven stone floor, and a thick layer of dust coated everything around her. As she glanced around, she noted signs of recent activity; footprints running to and fro through the drifted dust. They were smaller than her own, but not so small as to belong to an infant. The footprints of an older child then? She could not be certain. Again, that same sense of familiarity teased at the corners of her consciousness. She should know this place, and the owner of those small footprints. It should all be as clear as day, but instead everything felt muddled and uncertain.

For a moment, a half formed memory floated to the surface of her murky thoughts. It was of a young girl, certainly no more than eleven or twelve years of age, with a head crowned by a thick mess of strawberry blonde hair and eyes as blue as summer sky, but with all the warmth of a block of ice. The memory was unpleasant, the girl's eyes chilling in their emotionlessness, but still she clung to it, desperate for something, anything even, to hold onto. Try as she might though, it was already fading like wisps of mist cleared by a steady breeze and, before she knew it, the image had disappeared, leaving her confused and alone again.

A slight breeze tickled at the nape of her neck from behind and she turned, her eyes widening as she realised she was not quite so alone after all. The door through which she had entered this strange place had disappeared. In its place sat a young woman, her slim face and high cheeks framed by a tangle of wild blonde hair. She was clad all in black leather battle gear with hands outstretched to warm themselves over a small fire lit from, and feeding on, one of the debris piles. Her expression was flat and unreadable, her pose motionless. It was as if she were empty, a hollow husk waiting for something - anything even - to lend her life again.

She stepped closer to the other woman, feeling that same itch of familiarity at the back of her mind, but stronger this time. This woman was her, or at least, her as she had used to be. The stillness was an illusion, a too-thin mask that was prone to cracking. Inside the woman was boiling, her guts churning with anger, bile and outright hatred. She knew how this duplicate felt, because even now, she felt the exact same way.

She always did.

Suddenly, an ear splitting cry of purest anguish echoed through the air. It came from far away, though the agony in it was such that it seemed to be coming from much closer. Her doppelganger's head shot up at the sound of it, the eyes alight with wonder and delight. She surged to her feet and tilted her head back, a beatific smile of horrific satisfaction spreading across her face

Suddenly the world seemed to tilt unexpectedly, her stomach lurching terribly as, somehow, inexplicably, she _became_ her duplicate. She was standing with her head thrown back and her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she basked in the distant suffering.

The memories of this moment came flooding back to her all at once, casting away the murkiness and confusion that had been addling her. Now instead of fog and uncertainty, there was only stark clarity and it was powerful and overwhelming. She could remember Xena and her delightfully dead munchkin child. She could remember the pure stillness that had settled over her in this moment, and even how she had thought it would last forever. Worst of all though, she could remember how, next, it had all vanished in an instant. Despairing, she tried to will the sense of peace to stay, praying to any and all that would listen to grant her this one simple mercy.

Her prayers went unanswered.

Just as it had before, the pain and anger came crashing back down over her like a roaring maelstrom, sweeping away the stillness and leaving her broken and empty with nothing but the hate and bitterness that in turn, tore into her heart with a fresh and delicious relish. As the screams died, the laughter returned, dry and mocking, and no real humour behind them.

She opened her eyes and was startled to see that the spot where she had been standing before the crazy lurching switch, was still occupied. Another duplicate of her - or was it just the her from before - stood, shoulders hunched in mirth and hands lifted to her mouth to stifle a hysteric fit of giggling.

She stood straighter, her shoulder's squaring as she faced down the doppelganger.

"We've done this before," she said darkly. "Who are you!? _What _are you!?"

The other cocked her head and gave a disapproving series of tuts.

"Oh, my dear!" she sneered wickedly, "I would have thought that that was plainly obvious by now,"

As if in accompaniment, the various piles of debris scattered around the chamber erupted in violent conflagrations, the flames racing hungrily out and over anything and everything in sight until all save a small ring of open floor around them both had been consumed in a roaring inferno.

"I'm the only part of you that matters!" the duplicate grinned as the flames burned hot and hungry all about them, reaching back to draw the sword that had been missing earlier. "I'm the part of you that nurtures and provides for you! The part of you that's kept you alive all these long years!"

"The part of me that does nothing but hate and rage?" she spat back. "The part of me that's like having a never ending poison burning in my gut!"

The doppelganger's smile turned to a cruel snarl, then, without warning, she lunged forward, the sword practically singing in her hands as it sliced through the air toward her and she instinctively danced back out of reach, just barely avoiding the duplicate's follow up thrust. As she back peddled desperately, her feet skidded out from under her, and she tumbled back, landing hard on her back across the surprisingly cool stone floor. The flames roared higher, each one a dazzling blaze of white hot fierceness that threatened to come crashing down over them both and burn them to nothing more than blackened ash.

"Oh this is just pathetic!" the duplicate laughed, stepping nimbly astride her and flipping the blade so that it hung above her breast like a terrible sword of Damocles.

"Why would you even think you could resist me now!?" The mirror image's knuckles whitened around the sword's hilt as she prepared to deliver the killer blow.

"After all," she continued, her tongue flicking lizard-like across her teeth, "you never could before!"

* * *

Callisto awoke on her back, her long hair matted in a sleep tousled tangle, and her bedroll soaked through with sweat. She was staring up into a star scattered night sky, each tiny silver pin prick shining brightly against the black. Among it all, a thin sliver of the moon was just barely visible. Her chest was heaving heavily and her breath came in ragged, incomplete gasps as she reached up, her hand pressing tentatively against the ribs above her heart to feel for any sword wounds.

Nothing.

She rolled onto her side with a low groan, staring silently into the quietly crackling camp fire she had started earlier as her breathing returned to normal. Why had she had to check for a sword wound? Slowly she pushed herself upright until she was sitting cross legged on her damp bedroll. Her eyes never left the flames, and for a moment she could see her own face staring back at her from their depths, her own taunting grin writ large across it. Despite the balmy night air and the warmth of the fire, she felt a chill run up her spine.

She grunted slightly, clearing her throat as she gazed into the fire. It felt dry and scratchy. Without really thinking, she leaned over and grabbed a water skin from her camp gear, tilting back her head and swallowing the clear, cool water thirstily. She felt a thin line of it running down her chin, and immediately pulled the water skin back, corking the top of it and wiping her chin as she did so.

A tired sigh escaped from her lips as she returned her attention to the flickering firelight.

The dream had been so vivid that even thinking about it brought back the same cold sweat she had awakened with. Try as she might though, she could remember no more than half of it now, and even that was slipping away from her. It wasn't the first time she had dreamed it, or even others like it. These dreams dogged her nights, and her sleep was almost always fitful and disturbed. Try as she might though, she could never recall them for long after waking. Instead she could only remember brief glimpses or sensations, usually of fire, or the kind of scorching heat that made her want to lie on her back in a stream to ease it all away. Then there was her face. Always the same. Always smiling that same wicked smile and that same sadistic glare, backed by that ever present maniacal laughter that would stay with her long after everything else had faded.

With a great effort, she wrenched her gaze from the fire and the unpleasant feelings it conjured. Instead she turned her attention back to the night sky and was surprised to see that it was already lightening from black to a faded grey-blue colour along the tree tops. Dawn was fast approaching, and the birds in the trees were beginning to stir.

With a final resigned groan, she pushed herself up to standing, kicking thick clods of dirt over her dying camp fire and then bending to collect her camp gear. It was time to get moving. She doubted she would be able to sleep again, and besides, she had been on the road for weeks now, with precious few opportunities to gather fresh supplies. She had been hoping to reach some sign of civilisation soon and an earlier start increased the chances of her doing so today enormously.

She began her morning ritual of by gathering her bedroll, then she moved onto the cooking gear she had cleaned the night before and left to dry while she had slept. Before long the whole campsite was squared away, and the only sign of her presence was the smouldering ring of ash and ember that had been her campfire.

She crossed to her horse, a dark mare she had taken as her own after defeating Caelon and his bandits at Penthos. It did not take long for her to stow her gear in the straps behind the saddle, and before too much time had passed she was mounted and walking the horse between the trees.

She rode in a half-daze for the most part, brought on by a lack of sleep and the incessant, seemingly endless days of riding with little to no company. She had passed through one or two small villages on her journey so far, but each time, concern about her identity as Callisto, the crazed warrior woman from the North who had butchered a score of villages and cut a bloody swathe across the Greek country side, had led her to move on quickly. Other than on those occasions and the few instances of meeting other travelers on the road, she had spent the majority of the last few weeks alone.

Slowly the trees around her began to thin until the trail she was following emerged from the forest and out onto a scene of pastoral beauty. She drew her horse up for a moment, regarding the scenery stretching out before her. They were at the crest of a high hill, she and her horse overlooking a series of undulating valleys that stretched out before her like great waves of purest green grass. Occasionally the gently rolling silhouette of the hills would be broken up by the outline of a lone tree or rocky outcrop, and the otherwise endless see of green would be interrupted by bright islands of flowers. Away in the distance, a row of crisp, snow capped mountains sprouted from the horizon. Despite its serene quality, the landscape did little to move her. Hers was not an eye that held a great appreciation for natural beauty.

With a click of her tongue and a twitch of the reins, she eased her horse forward again, upping the pace to a brisk trot as she followed the trail down the hillside and into the bottom of the valleys she had been eyeing from above.

At first she had liked the solitude of her daily riding. It had given her time to think. The events of her life since Xena had stabbed her with the Hind's Blood dagger, and certainly since Penthos, had given her a great deal to think about too. When she had set out from Penthos, she had not had a particular plan or destination in mind. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realised that since Zeus and Hades had conspired to return her to the land of the living she had been acting on precious little more than a gut feeling that what she was doing was the best course of action. A deal had been struck in Hades' great dining hall that she remembered very clearly. Be their champion, their strong right arm in the mortal world, and all her crimes would be forgiven when she next came to sit before Hades' judgment. A place in Elysium had been promised to her and she intended to ensure that her two patrons honoured that pledge.

The frustrating part was that, so far, nothing of particular note had happened around her that actually _required_ a champion. Penthos had been a village in need of her help, and for the first time in her life since her home had been destroyed, she had actually found herself acting based on someone else's needs, rather than her own. Helping them, as trite as it seemed to her at times, had actually managed to cool her raging temper, if only for a little while. The last night in that village, after all the chaos there had come to an end, she had actually slept peacefully for the first time in many years. It had been a minor revelation to her, and she had ridden out the next day with a renewed sense of energy and determination she could not remember feeling in a long time. The determination had lessened as the days had worn on though. The more time she spent alone, riding into an uncertain future, the more her mind had begun to delve further back into her past. It was then that the dreams had begun again...

Her thoughts trailed off as she did her best not to think about them, and all the memories of darkness and despair that they summoned. They would serve only to drag her thoughts down a path she did not want to take them, and blacken her mood to the point of depression. It was too fine a morning for all of that.

She straightened in the saddle, her back arching as she stretched in the warmth of the early morning sun and her jaw cracked open in a yawn. It must have been a couple of hours since she had started out. The sun was low in the sky but well clear of the hill tops at this point, and she could smell the fresh scent of morning dew on the grass around her. Maybe it was time for a brief rest. She did not want to work her horse too hard after all.

She was about to clamber down from the saddle when the breeze changed directions, tugging her wild hair across her face in thin streamers. She gave an annoyed sigh and blew at it to clear her eyes when her ears pricked at the distant sound of battle. The distinct ringing of sword against sword and fierce but muted shouts and grunts hung on the wind.

Somewhere, close by but hidden from view, someone was fighting.

Her blood pulsed hard in her veins and her heart pounded faster as adrenaline surged inside her. Her grip tightened on the horses' reins and she felt her muscles tense in anticipation. After weeks on the road with almost nothing to do save ride, eat and sleep, she was hungry for some action. A good fight would be a welcome distraction from her increasingly dark thoughts at the very least.

With a swift dig from her heels, she pushed her horse to a gallop, its long legs stretching out over the narrow trail as they darted forward. Up ahead, the trail curved right and out of sight around the base of a low hill, and as her horse all but flew around the bend she caught her first sight of the fight she was riding to join. It brought back memories of Penthos almost immediately. A group of four bandits clad in ragged leathers, each wearing a helm with a closed face-plate, had ambushed two travelers on the trail.

Callisto squinted. The victims were an odd couple to say the least.

The two men were standing with their backs to her as she drew closer. The first, and closest, was apparently in his middle years; a short, dumpy individual bordering on overweight. He had a bald pate, but had grown the hair on the back and sides of his skull long, then tied it back into a short ponytail as if to compensate. A heavy looking travel pack was slung across his shoulders and he carried a stout walking staff that, judging by how he was now cowering behind his companion, he had clearly never learned how to fight with.

The second man was standing straight, legs firmly parted for better balance, his upper body tense and controlled in a classic dueling pose, but turned slightly to better shield the shorter man behind him. He was of average height, but with a lean and rangy build, all long arms long and loping legs, and his hair was a light brown, and hung in a shaggy crop down to his shoulders. In his right hand he clutched a sturdy looking one handed sword with a narrow blade sharpened down one side judging by the way it reflected the bright morning sun. In his off hand, he wielded a strange dagger looking weapon. It was perhaps an inch or so longer than a regular dagger, almost close to a short sword in length, but unlike a short sword, a series of notches ran the length of the blade.

The sound of hoof beats on the trail seemed to have distracted him, and as he turned his head to look for the source of the noise, one of the bandits took the opportunity to lunge for him. Callisto pulled her sword free as she drew nearer, ready to cut the attacking bandit down to size as her horse prepared to thunder right through the middle of the group.

She needn't have bothered.

The man with the two weapons swung back to face his attacker with easy precision, the notched dagger coming up in a deft parry. As their weapons met, the attacking bandit's sword was caught in one of the dagger's notches and stuck fast with the sharp, grinding squeal of metal on metal. The traveler twisted sharply with the dagger, dragging his attacker off balance as he tried to keep a grip on his sword. As the bandit stumbled forward, the other man brought his full length sword up and rammed it hard into the bandit's stomach.

Callisto was impressed by the man's skill, but could feel a sinking feeling in her stomach as the three remaining bandits fanned out around him, preparing to assault him all at once. Good as he was, she doubted he would be able to fend off all of them at the same time.

Fortunately for him though, she was already upon them.

"Hey!" she yelled, whirling her sword up into a ready position, "Heads up!"

Upon hearing her warning, the man with the notched dagger instinctively ducked, and Callisto lashed out as her horse passed within inches of him, her sword flashing through the air where his head had been a moment earlier.

The bandit who had been standing directly in front of him was not so quick to react. Her blade caught him hard across the chest, the impact jarring her arm in its socket while the power of the blow combined with the momentum of her charging horse serving to lift the bandit clear off his feet with a gasp of pained surprise. He seemed to hang in the air for a moment before flipping head over heels to land face down in the dirt, his body motionless and chest unmoving.

Tugging hard on the reins, Callisto wheeled her horse around to face the remaining two bandits. She straightened, standing tall in the stirrups. Then, with a piercing battle cry, she jumped from the saddle in a perfectly executed forward flip, landing with the poised grace of an Olympic gymnast.

She flashed a wicked grin at the two remaining bandits, her sword painted a slick red with the blood of the man she had just killed.

"So tell me," she began. "Is this little party of yours invite only, or can anyone join in?"

The two bandits glanced at each other, then as one, they charged, voices raised in inarticulate cries of rage. Callisto's grin widened, and she moved to meet them. Her sword parried the first bandit's opening thrust easily, but she could already see a second strike angling in from her right with the intent of slicing her open just below the ribs. She did not even try to bring her sword around to catch the second blade. Instead, she dropped to all fours, head tucked low to avoid the sword swing. It whistled harmlessly past, mere inches from her scalp. Without thinking, she lashed out with her leg in a powerful kick that connected hard with the side of one of her attackers' knees. There was a sickening wet crack as the man's joint gave out under the vicious assault, and he collapsed screaming to the dirt. She wasted no more time, ducking and rolling to his side, then flipping her sword in her grip to finish him off with a clean thrust to the stomach.

As she straightened, the last remaining bandit was already backing away, his sword shaking nervously as he eyed her from beneath his face guard. For a brief instant Callisto thought she caught a flash of recognition behind the bandit's closed helm, then with a final strangled cry, he turned and fled.

He had gone no more than a couple of steps when a dagger hilt blossomed between his shoulders, a thick red stain of blood spreading quickly over the ragged leather surrounding it. The bandit's back went rigid, and he managed to stumble forward a couple of steps, his hand pawing desperately at the dagger in his spine, before finally toppling forward into the dirt with a resounding crash.

Callisto turned to see the man she had just helped standing with his arm outstretched, the hand that had been holding his notched dagger now empty.

"Nice throw," she nodded to him.

The man gave a halfhearted shrug.

"I was going for his leg," he said nonchalantly, straightening and slipping his sword back into its scabbard at his hip.

Callisto squatted low, wiping her own blade clean on the grass at the side of the trail.

"Well, it's a good job you didn't hit me," she said. "Taking a knife in the back tends to make me cranky in the morning."

The man raised an eyebrow at her and was opening his mouth to say something when the shorter man stepped out from behind him.

"Athelis!" he snapped, smacking the taller man smartly on the arm with his staff as he did so. "Where are your manners! Did you leave them in the barn you were doubtless born in? This fine lady has just ridden in with the morning sun, a veritable golden Apollo come to our rescue, and you cannot muster so much as a simple thank you!?"

Callisto fought to suppress a smirk as the taller of the pair – Athelis apparently – flinched then rolled his eyes in long suffering frustration.

"Please allow me to apologise on behalf of my employee here," the shorter man said, stepping around to position himself ahead of Athelis so that he could address her directly.

"He has all the social graces of an ox, and an ill tempered ox at that. Nevertheless, he is quick with a sword, as you've already seen, and has proven most invaluable to me on my journey here."

As he spoke, Callisto tried to place his accent. His voice carried the rich, fluid intonation of an Athenian, and his flowery language suggested someone of overt intelligence, possibly even born to wealth and prosperity. Could he be a noble then? But if he were a noble, why would he be traveling in these desolate parts and in such dirty and downtrodden attire to boot?

While she pondered, the shorter man reached into a pocket stitched into his traveling robes and produced a small glass lens affixed to a short chain that in turn ran back into the robe pocket. Callisto watched curiously as he lifted the lens up until it was covered one eye. The eye loomed large behind the curved glass and he blinked a couple of times as if his eyesight were readjusting. After a moment or so he smiled at her.

"Why my dear!" he said in mild surprise "You look positively radiant! Truly I did you no disservice when I likened you to our shining sun god."

"I think You could've done me a better service than likening me to a man," Callisto said archly as she straightened, pulling wisps of blonde hair out of her face and sheathing her sword in the scabbard at her back.

Athelis let out an amused snort at that, while the shorter man gave an embarrassed cough.

"Yes... well... I... uh..." He stammered briefly, before regaining some semblance of self possession and sweeping low in a practiced bow. "...Our sincerest thanks for your coming to our aid. Had you not been so swift in your action, myself and my companion here would doubtless be crossing the Styx by now."

He righted himself, an ingratiating smile spreading across his portly face.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Monocles, and this uncultured brute is my assistant, Athelis."

He straightened from his bow, and looked at her more closely through that strange lens, a frown beginning to creep across his brow.

"I must say though my dear, you do look most familiar," he said. "I feel like I should know you. Your name would be...?"

"...Not important," Callisto replied, her voice snapping sharply.

Athelis and Monocles both looked somewhat taken aback by her sudden harshness and Callisto cleared her throat uneasily. This being a 'champion of the gods' thing was going to be quite difficult if everywhere she went people recognised her as being Callisto, self proclaimed Warrior Queen, torturer, murderer and relentless kicker of puppies. She let out a long low breath, trying to ease the sudden tension in the air.

"What I meant to say is, we'll have plenty of time for introductions later," she said, trying to lessen their suspicions a little. "Right now, we should try and get moving. Who knows how many more bandits like these might be lurking around here."

Monocles nodded in agreement, but Athelis continued to regard her from beneath down drawn eyebrows.

"Quite right, quite right," Monocles said, and began to take his pack off his back, unclasping it to hunt through its contents. "If you would just give me a moment though, to make sure that everything is in order you understand. There is much in here that would be irreplaceable were it to be lost."

Callisto squinted at the contents of the pack. It appeared to be mainly filled with old books alongside cracked and browning scrolls. Callisto was even certain she caught sight of a dusty stone tablet tucked in beneath everything else. With so much ancient papyrus in the pack, the thing must have weighed a ton. No wonder Monocles carried a walking staff. She was amazed he was not bent double under the weight of the thing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Athelis watching her watching Monocles. She glanced at him and cocked her head slightly, a questioning look on her face. He simply gave her a weary shrug in response. Something told her he was used to this kind of fussy behaviour from the odd little man.

Turning, Athelis crossed to the body of the man with the dagger between his shoulders. Stooping to pull it free, he muttered something under his breath as the blade came away glistening wet. He gave a grunt of frustration as he wiped it clean on the dead man's armour, taking special care around each of the dagger's notches. It was a casual, unceremonious action that Callisto found strangely informative. Athelis was a professional. The way he moved, the casual manner in which he dealt with the scene of violence around him, and the no nonsense way he tended to his weapons, all pointed to a man who clearly knew his trade, and knew it well.

"You're a mercenary then?" she asked as she walked to stand beside him over the body of the dead bandit.

Athelis did not look at her. His attention seemed to be fixed on the corpse in front of him, and he had his knuckles up under his chin, as if lost in thought.

"Something like that," he said distractedly and began to look calculatingly at the hills around them.

"Strange," he said, almost half to himself.

"What is?" Callisto replied, following his gaze.

"There shouldn't be bandits wandering like this in these parts."

"And why is that?"

Athelis looked at her as if she had just said that the Earth moved around the sun.

"We're less than ten leagues from Sparta," he said simply. "The Spartans don't take kindly to banditry in their territory. It would damage their reputation."

"We're close to Sparta?" Callisto said, feeling a sudden surge of interest. In all her days of raiding and pillaging she had never once ventured south onto Spartan territory, and with good reason. Their reputation as the finest warrior society in all of Greece, and possibly even much of the known world, had given pause to many a warlord, herself included. She had not feared the Spartans as such; she had just had more common sense than to attack them. She could not deny the appeal of seeing the city with her own eyes though.

Next to her, Athelis nodded.

"If you don't know where we are, I take it this means you're not the escort King Leonidas said he would send to meet us," he said.

"Me? A Spartan?" she cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say 'what were you _thinking_'. "Guess again. Why would a King of Sparta send out an escort for the two of you anyway?"

She glanced down the trail to where Monocles was still rifling through his pack.

"You don't look like the type that kings take a lot of interest in. I'd say no offence but..."

Athelis flashed her a dry grin.

"Offence very much intended?"

Callisto shrugged.

"Not so much intended. Just kind of hard to avoid."

Athelis chuckled and shook his head.

"Monocles hired me to bring him to Sparta safely. I was headed this way anyway so figured it would be some easy money. He didn't tell me anything about why he wanted to come here until a couple of days ago. Something about a deal with Leonidas. I have zero idea as to what that deal is though." He fixed her with a steady gaze. "I also have zero interest in finding out. I've been paid and that's enough for me."

Callisto frowned. Over the years and many, many victims, she had developed a very good sense for when she was being lied to. She did not think Athelis was lying to her now, but nor was he telling her everything.

She looked down at the body on the floor again, and suddenly a chill ran through her. She could see little of the dead bandit's features thanks to the helmet he wore, but something about the jaw line, slightly recessed and with a cleft chin, seemed familiar to her.

Without thinking, she squatted down and reached out with a curious hand to pull the helmet from the dead bandit's head. As it came away, she felt her heart seize in her chest. The man was young, barely more than a couple of years into adulthood, and still fresh faced. His cheeks were flat and unremarkable, and his head had clearly been shaved at some point recently, but not in the last few days or so as a fine dusting of blonde hair had begun to grow back. The brown unseeing eyes, a little too close together, clinched it for her.

She knew this man.

She racked her brains as she tried to remember where she had seen him before, then suddenly, like a punch to the gut, it hit her.

"Perites!" she breathed softly.

"You know him?" Athelis said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Callisto nodded.

"After a fashion," she said.

She remembered Perites only a little. He had been a resident of a village called Penthos, and had once worked as an assistant to Silas, the village's blacksmith. That had all ended when he had taken up with a strange old man named Pelion as part of some bizarre religious cult. He, Pelion and another villager named Marsus had spent their time wandering the hills around the village, worshiping at a series of shrines and temples to some forgotten god, each carved into ancient stone outcroppings that were scattered across the country side. The last Callisto had seen of any of them had been just before she rode out of Penthos for the final time. How had he come to be here? Why had he left Penthos behind, and what was he now doing among a group of bandits? Had the constant raids from Caelon and his men not been enough for him?

She sniffed as memories of Penthos and that final battle with the bandits there drifted across the surface of her thoughts. Penthos had been saved, but the price had been a number of good people, including Silas and his son in law, Atrix. Like all the people she seemed to care about, they were dead now; reduced to ash on the wind and surviving only as scattered memories that ate away at the corners of her soul.

"Care to share or are you going to try and distract me the same way you did Monocles when he asked for your name?" Athelis said.

Callisto turned to regard the other man levelly.

"You noticed that did you?" she said.

"Difficult not to."

She was about to open her mouth to speak again, when the sound of a horse's braying whinny filled the air, followed closely by the sounds of hoof beats on the trail. Callisto straightened quickly, her ears pricking at the sounds. At her guess it was not just one horse, or even two or three headed their way. She estimated it was something closer to a dozen, maybe even more.

Instinctively she went for her sword, yanking it free of its sheath as Athelis did the same. Monocles was already shouldering his pack and hefting his staff, ready to descend into a cowering panic at the earliest provocation no doubt.

Before she had time to do anything else, they were on them. A column of mounted soldiers rounded the trail up ahead, all of them broad and powerfully built, dressed in black boiled leather breast plates with crimson cloaks attached to them by plain bronze clasps. On their heads they wore dark iron helmets, each one sporting a short and bristling crimson crest. They were all armed in the same fashion too. They carried long spears in one hand while the other clutched the reins of their mount. Across their backs, each had slung a large bronze shield, a small crescent chunk taken out of the surface of it at opposite ends around the circumference through which they could thrust with their spears.

They were coming on at a steady canter, but drew up short when they caught sight of the bodies strewn about the trail. As one, they lowered their spears to point at Callisto and Athelis. Callisto's grip on her sword tightened reflexively as she did a quick headcount, feeling a sense of satisfaction when she counted a total of thirteen men in front of her. Only one out from her estimate. Not bad.

"I take it you're the Spartan escort," she said, adopting a forced air of nonchalance as she glanced around her at the bodies.

"A little late though don't you think?" she grinned mockingly. "It would seem I've done your work for you."

Some of the Spartan's stirred uneasily at her taunting and she could hear the distinct creak of leather as one or two adjusted their weight in the saddles as if they were readying themselves to charge.

"Hold men!" a loud voice sounded from the rear of the column. It rang with confidence and authority, the voice of someone born to lead. "We're here to escort these people, not ride them down as if they were common thieves."

Slowly the column of mounted soldiers parted and a single man came riding forward until he was clear of the rest of them. Unlike the rest of the Spartans, his helmet boasted a far taller crest, and the bronze clasps on his thick cape were not plain, but worked in the fashion of a roaring lion.

He drew his horse up only a few yards from Callisto and Athelis, the polished tip of his spear still pointing skyward. Neither Callisto nor Athelis sheathed their weapons however. Instead Callisto cocked her head at the man curiously.

"Sooooo," she said, rolling her tongue languidly as she did so, "I take it you're the one in charge?"

The Spartan nodded, releasing his grip on the reins to remove his helmet. His eyes were a piercing blue, almost hawk-like in their sharpness, and his fierce aquiline nose only served to further that appearance. He kept his hair cropped short, but the helmet had tousled it, making it stick up at the back.

"I am," he said. His face was flat and unreadable, but there was something else behind those sharp blue eyes. Was that surprise she could see there? Horrified realisation maybe? Or perhaps, even both?

"My name is Leonidas," he said, his eyes moving to each of the motley band before him in turn. Callisto fought the sudden urge to grin. So, the Spartan King himself had come to collect his wayward charges.

"You must be Monocles," he continued, nodding to the short, portly man cowering behind Athelis. Monocles stepped out from behind Athelis and gave another of his sweeping bows.

"I am indeed great King," he said, his manner more reverent than Callisto had heard it before, "And may I say what a humbling and most unexpected honour it was to receive your summons. I will endeavour to serve you in as able a manner as it is within my skill to manage."

Leonidas raised his eyebrows at the man's flowery language, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the Spartans behind him. Some of them were eyeing the rotund little man with amused smiles, but several wore expressions of scorn and derision, as if the Monocles' simple presence was somehow insulting to them.

"That is most..." Leonidas paused, as if searching for the words.

"...reassuring." he said finally. "And I imagine the man with you to be your assistant."

"He is great King," Monocles said, still with his head bowed. Leonidas turned to regard Athelis steadily.

"A mercenary by trade yes?" He asked, eyeing Athelis' weapons. There was something about the way he said 'mercenary' that made Callisto's stomach turn. If someone had spoken to her in that manner, she would probably have stuck pins in their spleen as punishment. She glanced over at Athelis but he seemed nonplussed by it. Instead he straightened, slipping his sword back to his belt as he did so.

"I prefer to think of myself as being a man with purchasable loyalty," he replied and Callisto could tell immediately that he was goading Leonidas. The Spartan King only ignored him, giving a derisive snort as he switched his attention to Callisto instead.

"And so we come to you," he announced, looking her up and down in an appraising manner, his eyes coming to rest on the sword she still held out in front of her.

"I must say, your presence is surprising..." he said. Without taking his eyes off her, he clambered down from his saddle and strode up to her, the spear still held upright at his side. He walked in a circle around her, slowly inspecting her from top to bottom, before coming to a stop in front of her.

"...but not unexpected," he whispered to himself, his voice tinged with wonder.

"Why is it surprising?" Callisto snapped, feeling confused and as if someone were sizing her up for market day.

"That it's you, and that you're here," Leonidas said, only half seeming to pay attention to her. "Just as she said you would be."

Callisto frowned at him.

"It's me?" she said questioningly.

"But of course."

"And I'm here?"

"Right on time too. Incredible!"

"And who's this 'she' you mentioned?"

"All in good time," Leonidas said, turning on his heel and striding off back to his waiting horse. In a single smooth and practiced motion he was back in the saddle. "In the mean time, I trust that all of you will accompany us back to the city. We have much that needs to be discussed."

Callisto stared at him perplexed. What in Tartarus was going on!?

"I think you might have been wearing your helmet too tight!" she said. "Whoever 'she' is, she must not have been thinking straight either. If you knew who I was, you wouldn't even want me this close to your city, let alone inside it."

Leonidas' smile widened.

"But I _do_ know who you are," he said. "Unless I am very much mistaken, and I rarely am, you are the one and only Callisto."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well here we go, the first actual chapter to feature our hero. The opening of this story is proving difficult to write because I need to seed so much information up front that will begin to pay off later. Hopefully soon things will settle down a bit and I'll be able to sink my teeth into the meatier parts of the plot.

In terms of the setting, I chose Sparta mainly because it was never really featured in the show much. I know a little about Spartan history and society having studied ancient history. This story has changed a lot over time, but the idea of setting it in Sparta has always appealed to me. The thing here is, this is a Callisto story, not a history or sociology lecture. As a result I will be treating the Spartans the same way the show treated its historical elements. They will be sketched broadly and historical accuracy can and will be discarded should it serve the story better to do without it. Hopefully though, the historical detail will serve to do a little dramatic heavy lifting for me, and provide people with a ready frame of reference.

Anyway, hope you all enjoy. Here's the latest chapter.

EDIT: A little bit added to the final conversation with Athelis, Monocles, Callisto and Leonidas. The original version didn't flow quite right and felt a bit unnatural. Some added lines here and there should help it move a little better.


	4. Chapter Three: Memories and Marathons

**Chapter Three: Memories and Marathons**

Callisto's horse moved at a slow trot along the trail as, all around her, the Spartans moved in a perfect escort formation. They were spread out in an even pattern along the trail, but were never more than a ten meters from each other. An easy distance from which they could reach their comrades, or throw their spears, she imagined. To her left, Athelis was walking at a brisk clip, his long loping stride keeping him even with her, while to the rear, Monocles shuffled along slowly in hushed conversation with Leonidas. The Spartan king had dismounted from his horse and was walking beside the smaller man so that Monocles would not be left behind.

She glanced back over her shoulder at the two of them. They were keeping their voices low; so low even that Callisto could not make out exactly what they were discussing. Whatever it was, Monocles seemed quite enthused about it, gesturing excitedly as Leonidas only listened with polite interest. She turned back to the trail ahead of them, not particularly looking at anything, and instead trying to work out just what exactly a Spartan king would want with an odd little man like Monocles.

Or herself, come to think of it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of one of the Spartans watching her warily. She turned to meet his gaze and gave him a teasing wink. The man scowled and went back to watching the country side for any signs of ambush.

"Looks like you make them nervous," Athelis said from where he walked beside her.

"I make a lot of people nervous," Callisto replied.

"You don't say!" Athelis grinned in mock surprise. "Benefits of being a murderous psycho I suppose."

She looked at him curiously.

"I don't make you uncomfortable?"

Athelis shook his head.

"Nope. Known my fair share of murderous psychos. You don't impress me."

"Well then," Callisto said, fingering the hilt of her sword playfully, "we'll have to try and change that won't we!"

Athelis' grin never left his face, but suddenly his eyes turned cold.

"You'll have to try hard," he said, his hand drifting closer to the notched dagger strapped to his thigh.

Callisto's mouth widened in a sadistic smile.

"I've always enjoyed a challenge," she fired back.

"Have you two quite finished?" came a third voice. She twisted in her saddle to see Leonidas riding up to them both. He had remounted his horse and left Monocles behind.

"You, Mercenary," he said, pointing to Athelis.

"Great King," Athelis said, with a mocking bow.

"Go back and assist Monocles. He's having difficulty keeping up. Relieve him of his burdens for a little while."

Athelis did not drop back as instructed. Instead he kept to the same pace, deliberately ignoring Leonidas' order.

"I'm a blade for hire Spartan," he said casually. "Not a pack rat. He hired me for my sword arm, not to fetch and carry."

Leonidas leaned forward in his saddle threateningly.

"I would suggest that if you want to keep that sword arm attached to the rest of you, you do as you are told _mercenary_," he all but spat the last word as if it were some terrible insult.

Athelis glared at him darkly for a moment, his fist clenching tightly. Callisto briefly wondered if he was about to fling himself at the Spartan King. In the end, Athelis seemed to think better of it. His eyes flickered from side to side, taking in the mounted Spartans and their long spears all around him. Finally, he gave a slight nod and dropped back quietly to aid Monocles with his pack.

Leonidas watched him go, then turned back to face Callisto with a disdainful snort.

"Sell swords!" he sneered in disgust.

"You don't like him?" Callisto said, glancing back after Athelis. A tickling sensation at the back of her mind told her there was more to him than met the eye, and she was beginning to wonder just how much of a mercenary he truly was.

"Can't say I blame you," she continued. "If I were in your position, I'd have had him stuffed and mounted by now."

Leonidas regarded her silently for a moment.

"Then it is probably to his benefit that you are not in my position." He sighed wearily and lifted his thumb and forefinger to massage the bridge of his nose, as if there were some pent up tension there. Finally he relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly, his posture, for a moment not one of a king, but instead, a tired and worried man.

"Come," he gestured for her to follow him. "I told you we have much to discuss, and we must do so in private before we reach the city."

Callisto cocked her head at him curiously, but followed anyway. As they rode toward the edge of their escort, one of the Spartans looked at Leonidas questioningly. He only waved the man aside, creating a gap in the perimeter through which Callisto and Leonidas passed silently.

Once they were clear, Leonidas eased his steed to a steady canter, Callisto doing the same in an effort to keep pace. Some distance up the trail, they veered sharply from it, passing along a narrow creak bed that fed into a shallow pond filled with reeds and a crowd of dragonflies buzzing over lily covered surface. The hills curved gently upward to either side of it, and Leonidas continued up them, his horse leaving a trail of ruts in its wake. Callisto did likewise until, finally, they crested the hills up above the pond, and she drew her horse up to admire the view.

Less than a league away, Sparta lay spread across the foothills of the now looming mountains. The city was an imposing sight, high walls surrounding it and each was topped with ramparts and watch towers at regular intervals along their lengths. Inside the walls, the buildings were stark and fierce. Plainly decorated and with little attention paid to lavish ornamentation or architecture, they were a testament to the Spartan martial code that valued simplicity over ostentation, and efficiency over elaborateness. Callisto thought they looked dreary and depressing.

More unusual and eye catching were the range of buildings around the city walls. She was used to seeing scattered farming settlements and villages in the land around cities such as this. They often made for the best pillaging, having grown wealthy and fat from their proximity to the city, but benefiting only slightly from the city's own guard. Sparta was different though. There were still settlements scattered across the country side before her; mainly large farm houses, probably belonging to wealthy independents, or working as the the holdings of Spartan nobles. Where all of this differed was in what had grown up immediately around the Spartan city walls. There, what amounted to a second city almost unto itself had sprang up. It lacked the stark and monolithic architecture that characterised Sparta, and instead consisted of a vast sprawl of shacks, huts, barns, grain houses and marketplaces. It looked as if what had once been a simple village had crawled like ivy along the walls of the city, spreading its tendrils this way and that without any rhyme or reason.

Leonidas dismounted from his horse, standing ankle deep in the long grass of the hill's peak. He seemed to have followed her gaze to the strange, ramshackle city.

"The Outer City," he said simply, "but most simply call it Helot Town."

"Helot?" Callisto said, turning to face him.

"Our worker class," Leonidas replied. "All true born Spartans are soldiers. We do not farm, or toil, or study, or build. We fight. That is our purpose, tried and true. The Helots do those things for us, and join us as troops when we march into battle. They belong to the state of Sparta."

"Slaves then," Callisto said.

"If you wish to use such an ugly term."

"Slaves," Callisto said again, nodding to herself as her suspicions were confirmed. Leonidas shifted uncomfortably.

"You disapprove?" he asked.

Callisto shrugged.

"I couldn't really care less," she said. "Slaves keep themselves enslaved as much as their owners do. If you value your freedom, you fight for it."

"I take it you value yours?"

She turned a sharp glare on him.

"Nobody, _keeps_ me," she hissed dangerously. "Even a Spartan King."

Leonidas only stared back at her levelly, never once flinching.

"Really?" he said, his voice genuinely curious. "You're not a slave then? Not even to your hatred of Xena?"

Callisto's glare turned savage as she felt a poisonous anger stirring in her chest at the thought of her dark haired nemesis.

"What has _that_ got to do with anything?" she snapped.

Leonidas simply continued to regard her steadily, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to figure her out.

"In the here and now, very little," he said. "Inside yourself though; well, that remains to be seen."

Callisto rolled her eyes.

"Just great," she sighed, slumping in her saddle. "A warrior philosopher. That's all I need."

Leonidas laughed at that. It was a genuine sound of amusement, but etched with a hint of weariness, as if it were an emotion he did not get to feel often.

"Not a warrior philosopher," he said shaking his head. "Just a warrior with a philosophy. The two are notably different things. I must admit to being somewhat surprised though. I am well aware of your reputation and your feelings toward the Warrior Princess. So far thoug, you are not quite how I imagined."

Callisto slipped from her saddle, and plopped herself down girlishly on the hillside, her long legs crossed and her back curved forward. She plucked a small flower from the grass beside her and begin to rip the petals from it absently. Memories of Penthos came back to her again, and all she could think of was sitting beside Caelon in a barn mere minutes before he was about to be hanged. They had talked a little, at first as enemies but later as something else she could not quite place. All she could think of was how she had eventually seen more of herself in the vicious bandit leader than she had liked to admit.

"I've been through some..." she paused, trying to think of how best to put it. "...changes recently," she finished. "I see things a little differently now than I used to."

"Quite obviously," Leonidas replied, moving to sit beside her.

She pulled the final petal from the flower, rolling the stalk between her fingers until it was a small crushed ball, before tossing it to one side and slapping her palms against her knees.

"Soooo..." she began, trying to change the subject, "...how do you know so much about me and, more importantly, how did you know I was going to be out here?"

Leonidas let out a long breath.

"That," he said, his voice perfectly measured and even, "is a difficult question."

Callisto glanced at him, the corners of her mouth curling up in a sardonic grin.

"I'm a clever girl," she said. "I think I can handle it."

Leonidas leaned back where he sat, his thick set arms taking his weight easily.

"I suppose it's better to start at the beginning," he said.

Callisto cocked her head and smiled winsomely.

"Oh how I do love a good story," she said, clapping her hand to her chest in a gesture of mock delight. Leonidas shot her an unreadable glance but continued on regardless.

"A year ago, the Persians attempted to invade Greece. We met them in battle at Marathon. It did not go well. We were outnumbered, and had it not been for Xena's intervention..." Callisto did her best not to growl at the mention of the other woman. "...we would have been out flanked and more than likely routed."

"And what, prey tell, did the good, the great, the magnificent, the infallible, Apollo shines from her rear end, Xena do to aid you?" Callisto said, trying to keep the derision from her voice and failing miserably. She could not truly remember where she would have been when these events happened. Had she been trapped in the Ixion caves at this point, or had she instead been sealed away in that strange void between dimensions by Hercules? Either way she had been stuck somewhere, and hardly able to keep up on current events.

"She intercepted a Persian scouting party," Leonidas said, trying to ignore her sass. "They were landing a secondary force with the intention of flanking our army. Xena held off a force of three hundred elite Persian scouts single handed."

Unable to restrain herself, Callisto began a slow, sarcastic applause.

"Well how about that," she said, her voice dripping venom. "Bully for the Warrior Princess!"

"Are you finished?" Leonidas said, throwing her an irritated look.

"Not by a long shot," she sneered, then adopting her most polite yet sarcastic tone she continued, "but please, do go on extolling the virtues of the woman who char broiled my family."

Leonidas' look changed at that, his annoyed stare becoming a look of sudden understanding. For a brief moment the two of them sat silent in the grass, watching one another. Finally Leonidas nodded.

"We were on the verge of defeat," he continued. "Even with Xena's aid, the battle had taken a turn for the worse, but she had delayed the Persian reinforcements long enough that our own managed to arrive in the form of the Athenians. When they joined the battle, the tide turned in our favour and the Persians were driven off."

"A typical Xena tale," Callisto muttered bitterly. "Always such a happy ending."

Leonidas shook his head.

"It does not end there," he said. "Marathon was costly for Sparta. We lost a great many men that day, both Spartan and Helot alike, while among the other Grecian city states, the Athenians have been given credit for the victory. Spartan pride was damaged and we've been licking our wounds this last year. The Persians have not been idle though. They are massing their forces for a fresh assault under the command of their God King Xerxes, and as at Marathon, it will be Sparta that is first in their line of attack."

"God King," Callisto pondered. "You'd think being one or the other would be enough."

Leonidas ignored her.

"My city is paralysed by inaction," he continued. "Xerxes' army is said to be so vast, that none have seen the like before. When they march, the ground shakes, and his so called Immortals leave a wake of terror wherever they roam. The Ephors, our ruling council, cannot decide on if we should go to war, and the Persians are playing to that uncertainty. Already their ambassadors are heading to Sparta with an offer of peace should we surrender to them."

"And all of this has to do with me, how?" Callisto said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as Leonidas spoke.

"I was just getting to that," he said, holding up his hand in a placating gesture. "I would not have our surrender handed to the Persians quite so easily. We are Spartans. We do not bend or break to any foe. To do so would be to give up _our_ freedom, earned long ago, and fought and died for on this very land. The Ephors though, are fearful. They have concerns at home that they think greater than the oncoming Persians. Peace with Xerxes is an option they will consider, even should its cost be our enslavement to him."

He paused to scrub a hand through his hair.

"I am no politician though; just a soldier guided by a philosophy," he said. "I spent many restless days and sleepless nights trying to decided on a course of action that would preserve our way of life in the face of this crisis. I could only think of one, and that required the aid of Monocles, whom you have already met."

"So he's here to help you start a war?" Callisto said, with a raised eyebrow and a cocked head. "The little guy doesn't seem the type."

"War is inevitable, whether we desire it or not, and he doesn't know my motives for bringing him here. Nor, I imagine, does he care. If he is successful, he will have what he wants, and I will have what I want."

"Still confused as to where I fit in," Callisto said.

"Monocles' success is not guaranteed. In fact, he is more my last resort. I knew that from the beginning, and so I went to our city's Oracle. She is a favoured daughter of Ares, and is granted with insight into the future from him. Her visions are often vague and difficult to interpret, but she was clear on one detail. You were approaching Sparta, and that the fate of our city, maybe even that of all Greece, would come to rest upon your shoulders."

Callisto frowned.

"Your Oracle told you this?" she said. "An Oracle of Ares?"

Leonidas nodded.

Her frown deepened. She and Ares had had a contentious relationship at the best of times. He had wanted her to be another Xena, a replacement for his lost obsession. She had only been interested in how she could use him to further her own ends. The two of them had butted heads as much as they had seen eye to eye on how to deal with Xena, and the idea that he would now be trying to use her like this was almost too bizarre to be believable. Unless...

"A champion of the gods," she breathed softly to herself.

"What was that?" Leonidas asked, having not heard her.

"Nothing," Callisto said with a shake of her head. "Just thinking, that's all."

She twisted in the grass, turning to face him fully now.

"So an Oracle tells you you need me, and where to find me. You ride out and lo and behold, here I am. What exactly is your plan now that you have me?"

He shifted uncomfortably again as he prepared to say something he knew she would not like.

"I plan to throw you into the middle of this," he said. "A rabid fox among the hens if you will forgive the analogy."

Callisto could only stare at him for a moment, her eyes blinking in confusion.

"So let me get this straight," she began. "You want me, to come with you, and what? Knock some heads together?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

Callisto gave a snort of dry amusement.

"You weren't kidding when you said you weren't a politician. I'm guessing a career as a merchant wouldn't fit you that well either."

"You will put both parties off balance," Leonidas said, ignoring her attempts at levity. "The Ephors don't know you are here. You're an unknown quantity to them, and your reputation alone will put the Persians on edge. After Marathon, they fear Xena, and you are the only person in all of Greece who has fought her to a stand still. If you were to be presented in alliance with Sparta..."

"...It might just make them think twice about attacking." Callisto finished for him.

"Exactly."

She clambered to her feet, and stood staring out over the foothills and down toward the city, her hands on her hips as a myriad different thoughts ran through her mind. _Did_ all of this have something to do with the gods? Was this all a part of Zeus' scheme? The old King of the Gods had never been entirely clear about what he intended her to do. Instead he had just given her some wishy washy nonsense about preventing chaos and tipping the scales of balance in the world back toward order. Well, stopping a war before it started would certainly count toward that! One jaunt to Sparta, and she would be that much closer to her promised place in Elysium.

She frowned.

Something still did not sit right in all this. The fact that Leonidas had been guided by an Oracle of Ares was disconcerting since, to the best of her knowledge, the only gods who had known of her resurrection were Zeus and Hades. The coincidence of Perites was disturbing as well. There was more to that than she understood.

As she thought about Perites, and the Headstone just outside Penthos, memories of the Underworld, and the creeping shadows there that had seemed to have a mind of their own, drifted through her thoughts, a dark sense of foreboding accompanying them. There was something not right in the world. She could feel it, like a sixth sense itching uncomfortably at the back of her mind. Maybe all of this _was_ connected somehow. Perites had, after all, been attempting to kill Monocles and Athelis, both in service of Leonidas, however indirectly. Getting involved might just flush the truth out from the crawling shadows and into the light of day.

She heard the grass rustle as Leonidas stepped up behind her.

"Normally I would not involve one such as you in this," he said.

"'such as me'?" Callisto quoted him archly.

"Such as you," Leonidas nodded. "I know your kind too well. Roving warlords and raiders, all driven by hate and spite, trying to carve out some place for yourself in the world by the tip of your sword. Your reputation alone would suggest that you are among the very worst of them. A dangerous, unpredictable woman, as likely to turn and spear an ally as lend them a helping hand. I had my doubts even as I rode out here to find you. On meeting you though, I find that..."

Callisto shook her head and raised a hand to cut him off.

"Okay," she said hurriedly, "Alright, I'll help you, but on one condition," she said.

"Name it."

"Spare me another 'you're not what I expected' speech."


	5. Chapter Four: Sparta

**Chapter Four: Sparta**

The ride into Sparta itself was relatively uneventful. Callisto and Leonidas rejoined the escort as it rounded a final bend in the trail and emerged onto a wider, but rough churned dirt track that ran over the open ground between them and the city.

As the city rose up out of the foothills before them, Callisto found herself surprised by the sheer size of it. From the hilltop it had appeared large and imposing, but the closer they grew toward it, the more its sheer, monolithic stature became apparent. It loomed, stark and massive, framed by the sheer grey crags of the mountains at its back. Indeed, the city itself seemed to have been built with the intention of using the mountains as a fourth wall, higher and stronger than anything that could be built by man. At this distance she could just make out the figures of more Spartan soldiers, small figures indistinct figures made clear thanks to their red crested helms. They strode back and forth across the ramparts of the walls, their spears and shields shining so brightly in the mid afternoon sun that they were visible even at this great distance. Callisto would have had a field day letting archers loose at them.

As she stared up at the city, and did her best not to let her mouth hang open in slack jawed awe, her horse began to slow, and before long she found she had inadvertently dropped back in the escort until she was riding beside Athelis and Monocles, the former now shouldering the weight of the latter's pack and wearing a bad tempered scowl. Monocles looked up at her and smiled excitedly. The revelation of her identity did not seem to have phased him too much.

"Quite a sight is it not?" he said, his voice filled with a genuine friendliness that surprised her even more than the size of the Spartan walls. "One of the great Grecian cities and a true rival to Athens, although neither would ever admit such a thing to the other."

Callisto nodded mutely. She was beginning to understand why warlords like Xena and Draco had never tested their strength against the Spartans. Those walls, when combined with the mountains, served to make the city easily defensible, and any siege laid to it would doubtless make the decade long siege of Troy look like a back yard skirmish by comparison.

The escort party continued its journey in silence while all about them, the wild, grassy plain over which they were riding began to give way to the first hints of civilisation. At first it was just a few small things. Grass here and there seemed shorter, probably trimmed by grazing animals, and in places small patches of wheat and other cereal crops were growing. As they continued, these things began to become increasingly evident, the fields growing larger and larger with small farm buildings appearing in the distance. At one point they passed a small, single storey inn, clearly a stopover for farmers and the like walking their crops and cattle into the city.

A small patrol of Spartans were passing in the opposite direction, and they stopped in their tracks at the sight of Leonidas, now riding at the head of the escort. Unlike Leonidas' men, these soldiers wore blue cloaks, although aside from that one detail they armed and armoured identically. Each of them immediately dropped to their knees in reverence as Leonidas and his retinue rode past them, their eyes downcast in supplication. Leonidas merely nodded to them as they passed, and soon the soldiers had disappeared off up the trail behind them.

Gradually, more and more buildings began to spring up around them, and before long the rolling fields had gone, replaced instead by clustered huts and shacks in among larger stone buildings. Callisto almost immediately recognised her surroundings as the Helot Town she had observed from the hillside. The buildings were generally rag tag and ramshackle. Most were low lying, being only one or two storeys in height, and many were little more than lean-tos, wooden frames with patched and waxed fabrics stretched across them to act as roofs. Some buildings were larger, and those that were were more richly appointed, some even sporting hanging pots of flowers, finely embroidered banners and other decorations. One and all they were more colourful and alive than the Spartan buildings in the distance.

Between the buildings ran a dizzying network of narrow streets filled with stalls, wagons, and washing lines. Where there were not stalls and carts, there were people; throngs upon throngs of people. Callisto had seldom seen so many people gathered together in one place before. They bustled every which way, going about their daily business in a manner that seemed at first chaotic, but that became increasingly hypnotic the more she watched it. Street vendors hawked their wares left and right, and tradesmen hefted bolts of cloth or large sacks of grain as they plowed their way through the crowds.

They were the kinds of people Callisto would have used to view as victims; weaponless, guileless, and weak, like new born spring lambs to a farmer's slaughter house. They came in all shapes and sizes, some tall and lean, others short and solid, and most in any combination in between, but one and all they eyed the Spartan escort with an air of suspicion and anger. The crowd parted before them as they rode through, but it seemed less out of respect for the soldiers and more out of fear. The air ran thick with a barely suppressed anger, and the sense of tension all about them was stretched so taught that Callisto half imagined she could slice through it like it were a harp string.

Dark mutterings and angry whispers rippled through the bustling crowd as they passed, but Leonidas and his men either did not notice, or simply chose to ignore them. They rode as straight backed and disciplined as they ever had, apparently oblivious to the negative feelings they were engendering.

Athelis and Monocles were clearly not oblivious to it though. They moved closer to the center of the escort, casting uncomfortable glances left and right as the crowd stirred uneasily about them.

"Something is most definitely not right here," Monocles whispered quietly up at her. "The Helots have forever been loyal to Sparta. They even fought at Marathon alongside their Spartan lords. Why should they seem so… so…"

"Angry?" Callisto offered in a voice of mock cheerfulness. "Spiteful? Hate filled?"

She shrugged.

"Who knows? Maybe they've just finally had enough." She flashed the hostile looking crowd of Helots a defiant glare, while next to Monocles, Athelis nodded in agreement with her.

"Kick a dog hard, and enough times, and sooner or later he'll turn and bite you," he said darkly, his hand hovering close to the hilt of his sword.

They fell back into silence as the walls of the city loomed large and bleak above the rooftops. A large pair of heavy wooden gates banded with iron ribs stood before them, and as one, the escort drew to a halt. Callisto felt her horse tread nervously beneath her, and she reached out a soothing hand to pat it on the neck. The animal only snorted and pranced even more nervously in response.

Next to Leonidas, one of the Spartans produced a horn crafted from supple pine and with a bone mouth piece. He blew into it hard, and the long note echoed mournfully out and over the city.

As the note faded all was silence, then a silhouette appeared on the ramparts above.

"Ho down there!" the silhouette called. "And what is the watchword for the day?"

"Charybdis!" called back the Spartan with the horn.

"Pass friend," the man atop the wall replied.

There was the deep rumble of beams being pulled back, and the loud grunting of soldiers as the gates of Sparta proper were heaved open.

The change as they passed from outer city of the Helots to the inner city of the Spartans was like night suddenly changing to day. The buildings around them seemed to grow massively in size until even the small town houses would appear as palaces to the unprepared. Somehow though, despite all their grandeur, Callisto noted that they lacked the vibrancy of the buildings back beyond the other side of the wall. Their decoration was more reserved, where it was present at all, and the whole place reeked of sterility and stoicism. The track upon which they rode had changed too, from the rustic dirt and uneven cobbles that wound their way through Helot, to smooth set and evenly spaced stone paving here. The hustle and bustle of the outer city vanished in an instant, and as the gates closed behind them, even the sounds of it were reduced to a muted murmur at the edges of hearing.

The people were as uniform as the style of buildings. While there were minor differences in build and no two faces were the same, as a rule the men were all tall and well muscled, with close cropped dark hair and wide shoulders. The women were a little more varied in build than the men, but again, all looked fit and strong, with the same sleek dark hair. They sported it in more styles than the men, though these styles remained simple and utilitarian for the most part.

Callisto caught a few of them curiously eyeing her own insane tangle of blonde hair at the corner of her vision. She suddenly felt a strange, self conscious urge to run a smoothing hand through it, but suppressed it almost immediately. Instead she twisted in her saddle, clutching tightly to her horse's reins, and glared back at them, a fierce glint in her eyes. The women seemed unimpressed and simply turned to go on about their business, as if she were little more than a common bandit being dragged into the city for an execution. Something about that made the ever present anger in Callisto's gut churn darkly. How she would love to jump down, draw her sword and show these haughty, stuck up prigs a thing or two about the reality of the world beyond their high walls.

She let out a low breath, attempting to calm herself before she said or did something she would regret. She had a feeling that even Leonidas, no matter how much he thought he needed her, would not take kindly to her threatening to horse whip his citizens right in front of him.

"So we're here," she announced to no one in particular. "Where to now?"

As if in answer a second baleful horn sounded from somewhere in the distance and a lone Spartan emerged from a small hut situated just inside the gate they had just passed through. His helm was tucked neatly under his arm and sported a crest somewhere between the regular soldiers and Leonidas' in terms of length. Callisto assumed that the length must denote rank or status, making this man the equivalent of a captain.

Like the rest of them, he was broad shouldered but had a barrel chest to match, giving him the appearance of walking ale keg. He cast a suspicious glance at Callisto and the others but said nothing, instead turning to face Leonidas and dropping to one knee as the men on the road earlier had done.

"Great King," he said simply. "We have been anxiously awaiting your return."

Leonidas motioned to the man to rise.

"Anxiousness in these times?" he said with a wry smile, as the man got back to his feet. "Who would have thought it?"

He leaned forward in his saddle.

"What is it that brings you to meet me, Sentos? Has Demosthenes finally seen sense?"

Sentos shook his head.

"King Demosthenes has sent no response to your proposal yet my King," he said, and Callisto frowned. Who was this Demosthenes? Where was he king of? She glanced at Monocles, hoping to catch his attention so that he could whisper her answer. The man seemed to have an almost obsessive interest in the Spartans, but his attention was completely occupied by the discussion taking place in front of them.

"The Ephors have called an emergency council session though."

Leonidas stiffened slightly in his saddle. Apparently that was less than good news.

"Why so suddenly?" he asked.

"An outrider from the Persians arrived shortly after your departure this morning." Sentos replied. "Their ambassadorial delegation will be arriving here within the hour! The Ephors wish to settle our current disagreements so that we may present a united front against them."

Leonidas scowled darkly.

"Do they now?" he said. Callisto had enough experience with anger to know when someone was holding tightly to it.

Sentos nodded, apparently ignorant of Leonidas' temperament.

"I told them you were indisposed at present, but they only warned me that if you are not at the council meeting in person, then your voice, and any potential veto they may have allowed you, will be forfeit."

Leonidas straightened in his saddle and turned to regard his men.

"It appears I am required elsewhere men," he said. "Sentos, take command in my absence and return to my Palace. Muster the personal guard and prepare the training grounds. I want the men on a wartime regimen before the end of the day."

Sentos' expression never changed, but his eyes took on a look of surprising eagerness.

"You think it will come to that Great King? Will it really be war?"

Leonidas spared him a glance as he turned his horse and began to start off up the road.

"We are Spartans, Sentos," he said. "When is it ever not a war?"

Callisto rolled her eyes. It was easy to see why Ares liked these guys so much.

Leonidas glanced at her and gestured up the road with a tilt of his head.

"Come on," he said. "I want you with me at this meeting."

He glanced back over his shoulder at Monocles.

"And you of course, Monocles," he said, seemingly as an afterthought.

"What about me?" Athelis spoke up for the first time since they had entered the Inner City.

"_You _can do whatever you like," Leonidas replied, his tone all but dripping with scorn. As usual the implied derision seemed to slide off Athelis like water off waxed papyrus.

"Then I'll come," Athelis said, glancing at Monocles. "I have dinars to collect after all."

Leonidas gave an unconcerned grunt and trotted off up the road, Callisto cracking her reins to move her horse alongside his while Monocles and Athelis followed close behind.

"Are you sure you want me at this meeting?" she asked as she drew even with him. "In case you hadn't heard, diplomacy is not exactly my strong suit."

"Really?" Leonidas replied sarcastically. "I honestly had no idea."

He let out a soft, uncertain sigh.

"I just need you there. You're my ace in the hole. I'm just not sure how I'm going to play you yet."

"So just stand around in the background looking wild eyed and menacing?" Callisto grinned. "I can do that."

Leonidas eyed her thoughtfully and nodded.

"Play up to your reputation a little," he said. "I want them uncertain of you."

"My reputation?" Callisto said. "My reputation is for wanton destruction and casual, off handed murder. You want me to do that?" As she spoke a tone of childish innocence entered into her voice. She glanced over at the Spartan king, and her grin widened when she caught sight of the surprised look of horror on Leonidas' face.

"Too much?" she said.

He nodded again.

"Thought so," she said, then let out a mock sigh of surrender. "Ah well, I suppose I can always fall back on the old threatening people's families routine. That one usually works well, although I have to admit in the past I did use to follow up on those threats..."

Leonidas rolled his eyes and then snapped his reins, urging his horse on ahead of them.

"What?" Callisto grinned darkly. "Is it something I said?"

Leonidas did not answer, preferring to be alone with his thoughts as Callisto chuckled softly to herself behind him. Maybe this would be fun after all.

For a while the four of them rode on in silence, the even clip-clop rhythm of Callisto and Leonidas' horses echoing off the paved roadway they followed. Slowly the buildings around them grew larger and increasingly affluent, and the road began to curve up hill. It was gentle at first, but quickly became steeper as they went higher and higher into the foothills of the mountains over which the inner city had spread.

Ahead of them Leonidas continued to lead the way, sat confidently in his horse, his back straight and his rich cloak shifting gently on the breeze. There was something too mannered about it all; his back was almost _too_ straight, his shoulders _too_ firmly set. There was a knot of tension at the base of his neck, and the way he held his jaw spoke of barely restrained frustration.

"Such a picture of nobility isn't he," she heard Monocles say. He had walked up alongside her and was now keeping pace with the even trot of her horse, his staff clacking loudly off the stone.

Callisto only snorted in response.

"You are not impressed?" Monocles said, his eyes widening in surprise at her scornful tone.

"He's just a man," she replied. "All poised and draped in finery, but still just a man."

Monocles shook his head.

"He's more than that!" he protested. "He's a descendant of the Agiad line, right back to the first King, Lycurgus, and with a mandate granted by Olympus and Ares himself to rule."

Callisto turned and glared at him at the mention of the war god.

"All the less reason to be impressed," she said.

Monocles mouth fell open in stunned amazement.

"You do not worship the gods?"

"Why bother? They know where to find me."

"But one such as yourself..."

Callisto arched an eyebrow at the shorter man, but Monocles simply bungled on ignorant of her expression.

"...surely you pay tribute to Ares at the very least?"

"Tribute!" Callisto laughed and spat roughly on the road surface. "How's that for tribute?"

Monocles fell back into shocked silence.

She turned in her saddle to see Athelis only a couple of strides behind them, still with Monocles' heavy looking pack shouldered, and seemingly lost in thought as he trudged along.

"And you?" she asked. "When was the last time you set foot in a temple?"

"Three years and seven months ago," Athelis said absently, as if he were not really listening to either of them.

Callisto's eyes narrowed. It was an answer she had not really expected. It had come too quickly and been too precise, as if he were gauging time from that point. She was about to say something else when they rounded a final bend in the road and Leonidas drew his horse up in front of them.

"We've arrived," he said, gesturing expansively, and as he did so, Callisto caught her first sight of Sparta's grand council hall. It was nestled at the foot of a hill, the road splitting in two and sweeping up the slopes to either side of them before reconnecting at its crest and continuing up to the very base of the mountains. At the end of the road was a large temple, distant, dark and ominous, built as it was from blackest marble that the sunlight did not seem to touch.

Leonidas followed her gaze.

"Ares' high temple," he said simply. "The Oracle resides there."

Callisto felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine, as if she were being watched. Considering how Ares liked to plot and scheme, she wondered if that might not be far from the truth. She glanced around, fully expecting to see nothing. She was not disappointed, and instead turned her attention back to the council hall. It was grand but far from ostentatious. Built of the same stone as much of the rest of the Inner City, and with a high domed roof, it reminded her somewhat of Ares' Halls of War. The front doors were flanked only by a few simple pillars. There was no statuary or running water, no intricate stone work or gold leaf, none of the opulent displays of wealth and power shown by other cities.

"These are the city council chambers," Leonidas explained. "It is here that the Kings sit in consultation with the Ephors."

"You've mentioned them before," Callisto said, and dismounted from her horse in a single easy motion as a pair of Helots emerged from a side door to the council hall and moved to take the reins from her. "You said they were the ruling council. Aren't you the King though?"

Leonidas gave her a patient look.

"I am _a_ king," he said. "Not _The _King_. _There are five sitting Ephors at any one time. They are the voice of all Spartan citizens and may come from any class of Spartan. It is they who rule and control the city. They sit in consultation with the two Spartan Kings, of which I am one. We act as generals for the armies and as advisers on military matters both domestic and abroad. We also act as law enforcement within the city walls. All crimes and laws are upheld by myself and my men."

"Two kings?" Callisto said, cocking her head slightly at him. "You don't do things by halves do you?"

She stretched, tired from the long day spent in the saddle, and felt her spine give a satisfying pop.

"So who's this other king?"

Leonidas gave a weary sigh and clambered down from his horse, handing the reins to one of the waiting Helots without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. The man bowed deeply, and began to lead his horse away, but Callisto thought she caught him directing a venom filled backward glance over his shoulder at Leonidas as he left.

"That would be Demosthenes," Leonidas said and began to stride purposefully toward the entrance to the council chambers. "He has served as King longer. It was Demosthenes who recommended we ride to Marathon in alliance with Athens. He lost a full half of his men there. Since then he's become more conservative and distrustful."

They stepped up in front of the doors to council chambers and Leonidas unslung his heavy shield, holding it loosely at his side along with his spear. With his free hand he motioned to Callisto and Athelis to do the same.

"The council chambers are the one place in the city it is forbidden to go armed, unless you are assigned to the watch. You must surrender your weapons upon entering."

Callisto glanced at Athelis, expecting more push back from the recalcitrant mercenary, but he simply shrugged, unbuckling his sword and the notched dagger strapped to his thigh. She sighed and did the same, unclasping the sword strapped across her back and holding it so that it dangled limply by its harness from between her fingers.

Leonidas gave a nod of approval and reached up to pound on the doors heavily with his fist. For a moment, all was silence. Monocles shifted uneasily.

"Maybe we're too late?" he suggested. "Perhaps the session has already begun and they do not wish to be interrupted?"

As if in answer, there was a loud scraping sound, followed by a groan of ancient hinges as the doors were pulled back wide.

"Well then, here we go," Callisto heard Athelis mutter as they stepped over the threshold and into the council chambers beyond.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies for the long time its taken me to get this chapter up. As I said when I started this story, the plot here is a fair bit more complicated than anything else I have ever tried to write before, with a great deal of moving parts and characters to set up. The reason for this is that this story is doing what in my original stories I actually took two or three stories to tell. The problem then, was that those stories were built around only one or two events, and that they weren't truly stories as a result as there just wasn't enough meat to them a large portion of the time. For instance, my original second story was titled 'Mortius' and it pretty much involved Callisto's first encounter with the black clad man of shadows. Unfortunately it did pretty much nothing else. In hindsight I've realised that that's not a story, it's a plot point. This story is therefore combining a lot of plot lines that were originally separate, tying them all together into a more cohesive whole, and this chapter is where it really all starts to kick in. As such I've had to be very careful with it, making sure I set things up adequately without it becoming too tedious. Not sure I managed it to be honest, but ah well, that's the price I have to pay I guess, and it's been a good learning experience, although difficult.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and are intrigued enough by it to keep reading. Have fun, and I'll be back with another update soon.

EDIT: I've altered the chapter divisions, so that a chunk of chapter four now is in chapter five. This makes the council take place over the whole of chapter five, rather than being split across chapters 4 and 5 as was the case previously.


	6. Chapter Five: The Offer

**Chapter Five: The Offer**

There was no corridor beyond beyond the doors, and no receiving chamber or anteroom. Instead, they opened straight onto the council floor and as Callisto stepped inside she found herself immediately flanked by four Spartan soldiers, two to either side of her. The front most pair immediately dropped to their knees as Leonidas entered, but the remaining two stepped forward, their hands outstretched to relieve the new arrivals of their weapons. Leonidas handed off his spear and shield in prompt order, followed by Athelis who looked completely nonplussed by the whole thing. Monocles even handed over his staff, somewhat distractedly it had to be said, as he gazed around the chamber in wide eyed awe.

"Incredible," Callisto thought she heard him whisper.

One of the soldiers was standing before her now, his hand outstretched and waiting. She did not know if he was aware of who she was, but it seemed the ideal moment to play up that reputation of hers that Leonidas was banking on. She tilted her head and smiled innocently, as if she did not understand him. The soldier's eyes narrowed and he flexed the fingers of his outstretched hand, indicating that she should hand over her sword.

"Ah of course, how silly of me," she said. She held out the sword for him, still sheathed, but as he reached for it, she flicked it away, smiling playfully as she did so.

Leonidas watched her, frowning as she continued to tease the soldier. The man reached for the weapon again, and she flicked it out of his reach once more, this time laughing lightly as she did so. She could feel the eyes of the everyone in the room on them, and clearly, the soldier could too. With a snarl of vexation he lunged for the weapon and Callisto neatly side stepped him, twirling gracefully as she did so, and whipping the sheathed sword around so that the flat of the scabbard smacked him neatly across the rear with loud slap.

One of the watching soldiers let out a snort of amusement only to be silenced by a hard look from Leonidas. The beleaguered soldier rounded on her furiously, but Callisto simply flashed him a wicked grin then bowed low, proffering the sword up to him with it laid flat across both palms.

The soldier regarded her suspiciously for a moment, and then, at a nod from Leonidas, snatched it angrily from her grasp. Leonidas glared at her for a moment as she straightened, then turned with a shake of his head and started into council chamber proper. Callisto flashed the soldier a final gleeful grin then tossed her head and span on her heel to follow the others.

As she stepped out onto the council floor, she had to try hard not crane her neck to take it all in. The chamber was huge but, like so much else in Sparta, stark. Ahead, a short flight of steps ran up onto the wide open space of the speaker's floor, and around it all ran a series of stone benches accessed by more rows of steps that led up to the outer walls of the chamber. The seats were filled with people, and Callisto could feel all eyes in the room following them as they ascended the steps up onto the speaker's floor.

At the opposite end of the chamber to where she now stood, a low dais had been set, and upon it there was a single stone bench with a high back. Along its length sat five men, each one dressed in simple white robes. There were a varied bunch. Some appeared younger, while others seemed to be firmly in the grasp of middle age. One was completely bald, but with a long unkempt beard that spilled down his chest like a silver waterfall. He watched them approach from beneath heavy lidded eyes that, none the less, still seemed keen and alert.

As they entered, the sight of Leonidas caused all within the chamber to stand then drop to one knee, save the five men seated before them, and two others. The first of these was off to the right. He was sitting among the front row of benches, but his seat was separate, akin to a throne and with a small table set up at its side upon which a heavy looking helmet rested. It was similar to Leonidas' but with a thicker nose guard and a wider flare at the base. The crest was at least as tall as the crest on Leonidas' helm if not maybe even taller, and it was coloured a pale shade of blue, much like the patrol she had seen outside the inn.

Demosthenes, she presumed.

He was older than Leonidas, but age had not withered him. He looked leaner than the majority of Spartans she had seen, but was still broad, with powerful arms and short cropped black hair that was flecked through with grey at the temples. Slumped in his seat, he looked bored by the proceedings so far, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that suggested that appearance was mere affectation.

Her attention was drawn back to the five men she presumed were the Ephors, as the bald man she had noted earlier clambered from his seat and gestured with both hands for the people around the chamber to rise. They did so with a rustle of cloth and the creaking of leather, before seating themselves.

"Leonidas," the man said firmly, in the tones of school master scolding a prize pupil. "you are late. We summoned you here two hours ago."

His voice, a deep, resounding bass that had been cracked only slightly by age, echoed off the council hall chambers and Leonidas bowed his head in a slight sign of supplication.

"My sincerest apologies, Nestus" he replied, addressing himself to the bald man, but loud enough for the whole room to hear. "I was drawn away unexpectedly on urgent personal business."

The old man, Nestus apparently, raised an eyebrow at him and eyed Callisto and the others with them.

"Indeed," he said with a wry paternal smile. "Quite the company you are keeping today, I must say. A mercenary, an Athenian, and a..."

He trailed off as he looked Callisto up and down curiously.

"...an unknown," he finished, turning his questioning gaze back to Leonidas.

"Ah yes," Leonidas said as if he had momentarily forgotten them. "Allow me to introduce my honoured guests to the council."

He stepped aside, waving Monocles forward as he did so. The small, rotund man stepped up beside him, his face flushed with breathless excitement.

"This is Monocles, of Athens," Leonidas announced.

Out of the corner of her eye, Callisto saw Demosthenes straighten in his seat, his dark eyes narrowing. She could not decide if it had been at the mention of Monocles' name, or the mention of his being an Athenian that had caught the other man's attention.

"He is a student of Herodotus, the father of History, and I have invited him here so that our own stories may be documented for future posterity."

Monocles gave an uneasy bow, then produced a soft scrap like piece of cloth and proceeded to mop his profusely sweating brow.

"It is my greatest honour, my lords, to be presented before you today," he said, slipping into the cultured tones of a high born Athenian once more. "I had never imagined in my life that I would be able to share in such august company as your own. Your great city and its history has long been of the utmost fascination to me. It would be most humbling to me, not to mention my most desired wish, if you were to open your great city's records up to me. I swear that, should you allow me to document your city and its long and mighty history, it will live forever at the height of posterity."

His minor speech over, Monocles fell silent. Callisto glanced between the Spartans. Demosthenes looked less than impressed. His lip was curled upward in a sneer at the smaller man, and a number of the Spartan soldiers at his back, all of them dressed in blue cloaks that matched Demosthenes' crested helm, looked similarly unimpressed.

Nestur and the Ephors on the other hand seemed less condescending. They traded quietly amused looks, and a few of them nodded to Nestur, who in turn merely cocked his head in acceptance and seated himself back on the bench with a smile.

"You are welcome here, Monocles of Athens," he said. "Our records, such as they are, are open to you. However, please do not name us Lords. We are simply elected officials, here to serve our term and then retire back to our everyday lives. "

Monocles gave another gracious bow, no longer seeming quite so nervous.

"I thank you my lo..." he began, then swallowed as he realised his error.

"I thank you," he finished simply.

Well at least that solved the minor mystery as to why Leonidas had summoned Monocles. Callisto still frowned though. It did raise the bigger question as to why Leonidas would care, considering the current crisis he was facing. Surely finding someone to chronicle Sparta's past should be low on his list of priorities right now.

"The second man is a mercenary guard hired by Monocles. I beg the council's forbearance on his presence here," Leonidas continued, this time gesturing to Athelis.

A soft murmur of discontent went up around the room, but Nestus silenced it with a wave of his hand. He fixed Leonidas with an even stare.

"He is here as your guest as well I take it?"

Leonidas nodded grudgingly.

"He is in the service of Monocles. As I extend my hospitality to him, so I must extend my hospitality to this one."

Athelis said nothing. Instead, as if trying to annoy the Spartans even more, he gave an overly elaborate bow of his own, flourishing with his hands neatly as he did so.

"My Lords," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Nestus stiffened, and shifted his affronted glare back to Leonidas.

"You will be responsible for him while he is here," he said. It was not a request.

Leonidas gave another slow nod.

"I will," he said stiffly.

Nestus and the other Ephors looked suitably mollified at that, and the old man turned to regard her once again.

"Which would just leave you then," Nestus said, speaking to her directly now.

Callisto straightened and placed her hands on her hips as she stared him neatly in the eye.

"So it would seem," she replied and turned to Leonidas.

"Well," she said testily. It was not taking much effort to play up to the role that he expected of her. All this pomp and bluster was beginning to bore her. Maybe was time to inject some life into the proceedings. "Are you going to introduce me to these nice gentlemen then? Or shall I just do it myself?"

Leonidas fixed her with a warning look, but Callisto ignored it. Instead she turned back to the Ephors and was about to speak again, when the Spartan King hurriedly jumped in to cut her off.

"This is the warlord Callisto," he said sharply.

Both the Ephors and Demosthenes straightened at that as a ripple of alarm went up throughout the assembled watchers.

Nestus was already on his feet again, his face turning scarlet with outrage.

"Callisto!" he said, his aged voice no longer old and cracked, but instead filled with fire. "_The _Callisto!"

Leonidas did not so much as flinch in the face of the older man's fury. Neither did Callisto.

"It looks like you've heard of me," she smirked. "I had no idea I was so renowned."

In actual fact, that was not even that far from the truth. While she had never doubted that her name would become known as that of a vicious warlord and butcher of women and children, the reputation had never really concerned her. It had been a byproduct of her quest for revenge against Xena for the most part and she had never really tried to find out just how far word of her deeds had spread. Judging by the reactions she had had in Penthos and now here, the answer to that last little puzzle seemed to be 'quite far.'

"This..." Nestus continued, ignoring her and turning his glare back to Leonidas, "..._woman_ is your guest!?"

His voice was barely covered steel. Leonidas simply nodded.

"She is."

"Why?"

"The Persians are coming," Leonidas replied. "Whether you are willing to face up to it or not, Xerxes and his forces are on their way, and they will be at out gates first. We need allies if we are to stand against them."

"And you think some rampaging warlord out of the North is that ally?" Demosthenes said, entering the conversation for the first time.

Callisto turned to face him. He was leaning forward in his seat, appearing more intrigued than angry by the whole situation.

"We are Spartan's Leonidas," Demosthenes continued, "Our strength is the greatest in all of Greece. No other city or army can stand before us. Why should the Xerxes and his army be any different? We need no allies to deal with them."

A murmur of agreement went up from the soldiers at his back, causing the Ephors to exchange worried looks between one another.

"It was the Persians who had us dead to rights at Marathon." Leonidas replied to his fellow king. "And it was Xena who turned the tide there. If not for her, our forces would have been overrun and wiped out to the man."

"Then bring us Xena," Nestus said in exasperation. "She, at least, has a code; something she stands for! All this one has ever stood for is her own gratification."

Callisto's eyes narrowed.

"Be very careful how you talk about Xena in my presence old man," she said dangerously. "She has caused me more suffering than you could ever know."

Nestus was opening his mouth to speak again, when a mournful horn blast echoed in from outside. It was the same horn that had signaled Leonidas' arrival. For a moment all was silent save the uncomfortable shuffling of some of the watchers on the benches, then a second fierce blast of the horn sounded. The room erupted into excited chatter, and Nestus turned back to the other Ephors; Callisto seemingly forgotten for the moment.

Leonidas leaned in close to her side.

"They're here," he hissed quietly to her.

"Who are?" she said, frowning.

"The Persians," he replied. "Or at least their ambassador is. Come on, we need to get ready. Just follow my lead, alright?"

He moved off to the left, striding purposefully toward an unoccupied seat that was the perfect mirror image of the one in which Demosthenes now sat. Callisto followed close behind him, Monocles and Athelis in turn only a few steps behind her. As he neared the chair, Leonidas unclasped his cloak, draping it over the arm of the seat before slumping down into it himself, his pose similar to Demosthenes'.

Callisto seated herself on the bench next to Leonidas' seat, leaning forward with her fingers laced together and her elbows resting on her bare knees while Monocles and Athelis slid onto the bench alongside her. She let her eyes sweep across the gathered crowds that were seated in a circle around the council floor. Mostly they appeared to be Spartans judging, by the relatively uniform sea of faces staring back at her. Here and there, others were seated, clearly not of Spartan origin as they were often smaller and sported a greater variety of features and hair colours. In one corner of the chamber, a number of such individuals were seated together. Callisto estimated there to be about fifteen of them, all sat in a close huddle and muttering unhappily between themselves.

All save one.

Even sitting, he was tall. Probably taller than any of the Spartans even, and he was almost as broad shouldered. Like them, he wore his hair close cropped, but unlike them, it was dusky shade of blonde. His eyes were narrowed and a little too close together, giving him a vaguely predatory look. Instead of talking with his fellows, he was watching the Ephors' discussions intently, a slight frown drawn across his face. When he felt her gaze upon him, he turned, looking directly at her. Callisto did not look away, meeting his stare with a level one of her own.

Curious, she nudged Leonidas with her elbow.

"Who's that?" she said, gesturing toward the man with a flick of her head.

Leonidas took a deep breath as if to martial his patience. Clearly he was not used to being treated with so little reverence. Well, it would do him good to be treated as a normal person for a change.

He followed her gaze, and locked eye contact with the the man seated on the benches. The man gave him an acknowledging nod, which Leonidas returned. Clearly they knew each other. The man turned back and began to engage one of those around him in conversation.

"Well?" said Callisto expectantly.

"That's Ithius," Leonidas said flatly.

"He's a Helot," he nodded toward the crowd of people around the other man. "They all are. Or at least they used to be."

"Used to be?"

"They were freed last year, along with two thousand others, all part of a unit of Helots that accompanied us to Marathon. It's the reason they can sit in Council like that. Helots are not permitted entrance, but free citizens of Sparta are."

"You freed two thousand Helots?" Callisto said.

"You sound surprised."

She cocked her head.

"A little," she nodded. "two thousand is a fairly sizable number. You weren't worried about a revolt or something?"

"It's precisely for that reason that we freed them," Leonidas explained. "There's been a growing sense of dissatisfaction with Spartan rule among the Helots for years, but our might has kept them in check for the most part. After Marathon our numbers were severely depleted. If we were to avoid an outright rebellion..."

"...You needed an olive branch," Callisto said, starting to put the pieces together.

Leonidas nodded.

"The Helots often accompany us to war. Those who fight for Sparta and exemplify themselves on the battlefield can earn freedom..." he paused and Callisto could tell what he was thinking.

"...one way or the other?" she finished for him.

"That's right."

"Well if he's alive and sitting here, he did something exemplary," Callisto said, folding her arms as she looked levelly at Leonidas. "What was it?"

Leonidas leaned back in his chair and let out a long tired exhale.

"He saved my life," he said.

Before Callisto had the opportunity to speak again, she suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye that made her back stiffen and her hairs stand on end. Seated behind Ithius and the other Helots, was another cluster of individuals. They were each clad in crimson robes, all stitched across with strange symbols in a darker crimson and the image of sickle on the collar. They were the same robes she had first seen being worn by members of a strange cult residing in the village of Penthos. Familiar though the robes they wore were, it was a man seated among them who caught her attention. She had met him before, and she supposed she should not be surprised to see him here now, what with having encountered and killed Perites on the road earlier.

Pelion looked the same as he had in Penthos. His face still had the look of ancient parchment stretched taught across his skull, but with that same strange youthful vibrancy she had noted in the past. He had his hands folded into the voluminous sleeves and was seated with an air of assured self confidence that made him stand out from his hunched compatriots. He did not seem to be paying any attention to the discussions taking place around him, or on the council chamber floor. Instead his attention was directed toward Callisto and those seated with her.

Frowning, she traced his gaze to its focus. He was watching Athelis.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to process what this could all mean when a terrific banging sounded from the huge double doors. Nestus rose from his seat and motioned for silence, the room quickly obliging him. He nodded toward the four soldiers at the door.

"We are ready," he said. "Show them in."

The huge double doors to the council chamber were pulled open, the mid afternoon sunlight spilling in around them from outside. Callisto straightened in her seat, all thoughts she had been having of Pelion and the reason for his presence here momentarily forgotten as she caught her first sight of the Persian ambassador and his party.

After her village had been destroyed she had traveled for a time, joining up with any and all warrior bands she came across. She had spent time with bandits, mercenaries and warlords, moving out beyond the borders of Greece, and into the world beyond. Everywhere she had gone, she had tried to find people to teach her; people who would impart their skills to her so that she could ultimately use them against Xena. In all that time though, she had never encountered any Persians, and she was interested to get her first look at them.

She had to admit to being slightly disappointed by them. She had thought she stood out in comparison to the bulky and powerful Spartans, what with her battle gear, slim frame and blonde hair, but these people could not have stood in starker contrast even if they had tried... which,come to think of it, they may very well have been trying to do. The first men inside were smaller than she had imagined though. Of a more natural height and build than the hulking Spartans, one and all they had dark skin and dark hair. They were dressed in conical helmets that sat atop their heads with chain mail guards hanging down to protect their vulnerable necks. Their armour consisted of leather surcoats stitched over with hundreds of small metal plates that clattered loudly as they walked, and at their sides hung large curved swords with heavy looking pommels. They seemed far less uniform than the Spartans, with each man's armour being distinct from those around him.

They marched purposefully into the council chambers, at first ignoring the Spartan soldiers flanking them. That was until two of the Spartans stepped out to block their path however. The Spartans each extended a hand in the same manner that they had done with Callisto, motioning firmly for the weapons the Persians carried. The smaller men stopped and one of their number, a particularly swarthy individual, his surcoat slightly longer than the others, and his sword pommel set with a glinting ornamental emerald, threw a glance back over his shoulder toward another man who had just arrived.

The newcomer was the only member of the group who did not have dark hair. Instead it was a finely aged silver and it hung down from under a small flat cap in a thick braided ponytail. He was dressed in flowing silk robes of a deep royal blue and trimmed with gold, and number of thick rings decorated his fingers. Behind him trailed a number of other individuals, less lavishly clothed, but still extravagant. Clearly this was the ambassador and those following him, his retainers.

The ambassador nodded to the armoured Persian guard and, as one, they unbuckled their weapons and handed them over to the Spartans. The ambassador himself smiled and held his arms up, palms open as a soldier approached him to show he had no weapons. The smile appeared friendly, but Callisto noticed it never touched the man's eyes. The retainers mimicked his gesture but made even less attempt to hide their disdain as they glanced haughtily about them.

The group advanced out onto the council floor, the ambassador motioning to the rest to hang back as he continued on until he stood alone at the center of the chamber. Despite his age, he stood straight backed and unshrinking under the steady gazes of the assembled Spartans.

Slowly, Nestus and the other Ephors rose from their seats, the elder Ephor casting sideways glances at Leonidas and Demosthenes as he did so. The two kings looked at one another, then grudgingly rose from their thrones. As they rose, the Persian ambassador swept low in a gracious bow, his robes falling gracefully all about him.

"Greetings mighty Spartans," he said, his voice flowing and rich. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hutâna Huvaxshtra Huyazata, but all may address me as Hutâna. I have been sent to you today, carrying a message from my almighty King, the great God Xerxes, son of Darius."

He straightened, brushing non existent dust from his sleeves as he did so.

"But please," he continued, his smile widening. "There is not a need to stand on ceremony for one such as I. Be seated, if you will, so that we may discuss matters in more comfort."

The Ephors eased themselves back into their seats at that, but Callisto caught Demosthenes and Leonidas glancing at one another again. This time neither of them sat.

"The city of Sparta welcomes you," Nestus said as graciously as he could manage, but even his temper seemed strained. "We are most honoured by your presence within our walls."

"The honour is ours, I can assure you," Hutâna said, his smile widening while his eyes remained cool and calculating. "The strength of Sparta is legendary, and your opposition at Marathon displayed that strength in a most... informative manner."

Next to her, Callisto could practically feel Leonidas bristle at the Persian's slight, but he said nothing. Demosthenes, if anything, looked even more affronted, the muscles in his jaw bunching tightly as Hutâna spoke. Like Leonidas though, he remained silent.

"Marathon was a tragic day," Nestus said, clearly trying hard to remain diplomatic while the two kings fumed silently, "For both our peoples. Sparta would not see such bloodshed wrought again so soon."

"My King Xerxes will be most pleased to hear that," said Hutâna, cocking his head slightly as he spoke. "He wishes for the same and would not have Sparta as an enemy..."

"And Sparta would not wish him as one," Nestus answered hurriedly, but the ambassador continued on as if he had not spoken.

"...As such, he has sent us here, to speak in his name, and to propose an offer of friendship between us..."

A low murmur went up around the room at that. Callisto watched as a large number of the assembled Spartans scowled darkly. Clearly they did not favour such a course of action. The Helots gathered around Ithius looked to be nonplussed, with the exception of Ithius himself, who was wearing a concerned frown. Hutâna gazed up into the stands, that same smug smile still plastered across his face.

"...before escalating circumstances make such an offer impractical," he finished.

Nestus lifted a hand to his beard thoughtfully as one of the younger Ephors spoke.

"What would be the terms of such a friendship?" the man asked.

"Why, only the vow that Sparta and its armies would not stand in opposition to my King Xerxes' conquest of Greece and all its dominions," Hutâna said with a friendly smile that never moved higher than his cheeks. "That and for you to surrender your sovereignty to us, of course."

That final addition proved the last straw for the assembled Spartans. The room was suddenly filled with thunder as a hundred voices cried out in pure outrage. The Persian soldiers shifted uncomfortably, but Hutâna did not so much as blink. He simply continued to stand in the center of the room, that same obnoxious smile never leaving his face.

Suddenly, Leonidas span on his heel to face the stands.

"ENOUGH!" He bellowed furiously.

As if Zeus himself had spoken, the room fell immediately silent. The Spartans were hardly mollified though and many still glared darkly at the small Persian delegation. Slowly and dangerously, Leonidas turned back to face Hutâna.

"And what if we were to refuse your..." he paused as if trying to find the words, "...most generous offer."

Hutâna regarded him steadily, his gaze seemingly locked with Leonidas' own.

"Across the ocean that lies to the south of Greece, there is a vast other world," he said slowly. "Within it dwell many wondrous animals the likes of which you have never seen. Among them there is a particular beast, a great grey creature with a long nose and enormous ears. They are three times the size of even the largest warhorse, with the strength to match. They travel in herds, and when they charge nothing..." he glanced at the bronze clasps holding Leonidas' red cape, "...not even the mightiest lion, can stand before them."

He turned sweeping his arms wide and addressing himself to the rest of the chamber again.

"I implore you all; accept our offer. If you do not stand aside, you will be trodden underfoot!"

Callisto could sense Leonidas' anger building beside her. She could hardly blame him. Hutâna was a smug cretin, and his relentless haughtiness was beginning to grate on her nerves.

She glanced at the Spartan king, her eyes narrowing as she did so. His fists were bunched tightly, and his knuckles had turned a fierce white. She had spent long enough living with anger to know when it was about to drive someone to action, and considering the delicacy of the situation unfolding before them it was likely to be an action he would regret.

She let out a soft sigh. Time to live up to her reputation again it would seem.

"Oh please!" she said loudly, sweeping up from the stone bench as she did so, "Could you just spare us the theatrics! I think we all understand you. Your little metaphor was about as subtle as a sword through the throat after all."

All eyes in the chamber turned on her in an instant. The Persians looked the most affronted, and among them Hutâna most of all; That irritating, puffed-up grin finally having been wiped off his face. Nestus had his head in his hands and Demosthenes' face was lit with an amused grin. Next to her, Leonidas' jaw was hanging open in stunned amazement. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and glared back at him.

"What!?" she said belligerently. "He was boring me!"

She turned to regard the rest of the benches and spread her arms wide.

"Was no one else bored?" she asked earnestly.

"Who is this... _woman_?" Hutâna hissed, pointing at her, but his eyes fixed on Nestus and demanding of answers.

"Her name's Callisto," Leonidas said, once again leaping in before Nestus or Callisto herself could reply. "And she is here as an ally of Sparta."

"Callisto," Hutâna said, his eyes narrowing. "_The..._"

"Callisto, yes." Callisto finished for him. "We've already been through this once today. Warlord, murderer, child killer, vengeance seeking psycho..." she continued, stepping nimbly down onto the council room floor, "...and those are just my good qualities."

She gave the Persian ambassador a broad sadistic grin as she sidled closer to him.

"Want to hear my bad ones?"

Hutâna gave an almost imperceptible swallow, his profound self assurance seemingly rattled for the first time.

"Clearly my opinion of Sparta was ill informed," he said, turning back to Nestus and the other Ephors. "I had thought you an honourable people of moral caliber. And here you are, claiming a... a... creature like this as your ally?"

Callisto pressed a hand to her chest in mock injury.

"Hutâna, deary, you wound me!" she gasped, then glared at him darkly. "Maybe I should return the favour."

"She does not speak for Sparta," Nestus cut in abruptly, with a furious glance in the direction of Callisto and Leonidas. "She is merely our guest, much like yourselves."

Hutâna glanced in Leonidas' direction.

"Your king over there said she was an ally," he said, all pretense at decorum leaving his tone. He was no longer trying to appear mannered or polite. Instead he addressed Nestus as if her were a servant, and Leonidas nothing more than a cheap slave.

Nestus opened his mouth to speak but could not seem to find the words. He sat silently for a moment, a look of rising discomfort on his face.

It was Demosthenes who came to the rescue this time, having remained silent for much of the proceedings up to now.

"My Lords and honoured guests..." he said, his voice suddenly deeply conciliatory as he stepped down to join Callisto and Hutâna on the council room floor.

"My sincerest apologies for the way this has been handled. Callisto is indeed our ally, but she is freshly arrived in the city, mere hours before you in fact. She has had no time to rest or catch her breath since coming here. She is simply tired, as I'm sure you yourselves are."

He shot Callisto a warning look, challenging her to keep silent. She folded her arms and grinned back at him, willing to play along for the time being.

"It's clear that today we will make no more progress in these discussions," he continued. "Allow me to suggest that we retire for the day."

Hutâna placed his hands on his hips and harrumphed.

"Our God King expects us to return to him in the next three days with word of the agreement reached here. We do not have time to wait..."

"How very gracious of him," Callisto muttered sarcastically, more to herself than anyone else, but Demosthenes gave her an irritated glance anyway

"Surely one as magnanimous as your Great King Xerxes..." he continued, and Callisto could not help but notice how he did not refer to the Persian King as a god, "...would not begrudge you taking a little extra time over so important a matter."

Hutâna frowned, clearly weighing the options before him. Callisto had to admit that Demosthenes had snared him quite nicely. If he refused to wait, he would appear petulant and easily offended which would damage his negotiating position. She had not expected such skill with words from the Spartan King. Slowly the Persian ambassador nodded.

"I suppose that would be acceptable," he said.

Demosthenes glanced up into the stands briefly, but Callisto was unable to follow his gaze before he looked back to the Persian ambassador. Slowly, he forced as warm a smile as he could managed onto his face.

"I would be most honoured if you would be guests at my palace during your stay in the city," he said. "We were planning a grand feast tonight, and your attendance would make me eternally grateful."

He turned and regarded the rest of the room, his keen gaze sweeping across everyone present, Callisto included, although he looked less than pleased when he looked at her.

"Indeed, all present here now are invited!" he announced. "It will be an excellent opportunity for us to get to know one another, and hopefully ease the tension of future negotiations."

Hutâna somehow managed to plaster that same self satisfied smile across his face again as Demosthenes finished speaking.

"A most excellent suggestion," he said, with a nod. "It will definitely be preferable to continue these deliberations tomorrow, with cooler heads..." he glanced meaningfully at Callisto, "...and fuller stomachs."

Callisto only smiled back broadly.

"Sounds wonderful," she said wickedly. "I do so love a good party."


	7. Chapter Six: Frolics

**Chapter Six: Frolics**

Demosthenes' palace feast hall was alive with the sounds of revelry. Leonidas was sitting in a heavy backed seat at the head table, Demosthenes himself seated on his right in the grandest seat available. The hall was decorated in the usual spartan tradition, which meant very little decoration at all. A few antique pieces of armour and weaponry, no doubt belonging to Demosthenes' honoured ancestors, were scattered along the walls, the final rays of the sinking flaring at the windows and glinting off the steel and metal.

In the place of decoration, the room was filled with people. At least a hundred and possibly even more. A wide selection of Spartans, freedmen, private citizens and the like were seated at every table, most drinking, eating and carousing while Demosthenes' palace Helots moved back and forth, offering up refreshment wherever necessary. The Persians were seated over in one corner of the room, purposefully divorced from the festivities going on around them as they eyed the Spartans disdainfully. The one exception was Hutâna, who was instead watching Callisto with a calculating look in his eyes.

A ragged cheer went up from another corner of the room where a group of younger Spartans, freshly minted in battle only the year before at Marathon, had decided to test each others' strength by organising an impromptu arm wrestling tournament. Two of the larger individuals had engaged in a heated and strained contest. As Leonidas turned to watch them, the larger of the two gave a final vicious surge of strength and his opponent let out a pained grunt as his arm was slammed decisively down with such force that it rattled the ale tankards at the surrounding tables. The cheering crowd gathered around them cried out even louder as the victorious soldier lifted his arms in triumph.

"Quite the celebration you're putting on," Leonidas said, leaning closer to Demosthenes as he spoke.

The other King twisted in his chair distractedly.

"What?" he said, clearly not having been listening.

"I said," Leonidas began again, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub, "quite the celebration you're having."

Demosthenes only grunted and looked around the room, as if seeing the frivolity for the first time. His brow knotted and his eyes turned downcast as he reached listlessly for his ale. Without a word, he tilted his head back, draining the tankard before waving for another. He belched loudly and turned to face Leonidas more fully, his expression a far cry from the one he had affected in the council chambers earlier.

"They need the distraction," he said grimly. "Persians at the gates, and Helots ready to rebel at any moment. There's precious little else for them to look forward to. War is coming, and I don't know which side we'll be on. I only know that a lot of good men will die."

"You didn't seem to think the situation was so dire in the council," Leonidas said.

Demosthenes glanced up at him.

"You, of all people, should understand the value of appearing strong in front of your men."

Leonidas nodded.

"Of course, but still, I don't think we're defeated quite yet. There are still options available to us; other avenues to pursue."

Demosthenes cocked an eyebrow at him quizzically.

"Oh? Care to tell me how things can get any worse?" he looked around, eyeing the various Helot servants distrustfully then lowered his voice so that Leonidas had to strain to hear him. "We've been taking the Helot's to war with us for decades Leonidas. That's decades for them to watch us, learn from us. In using them as fodder we've trained the only army in Greece that knows how to beat us."

He gave a vexed grunt.

"If only Soriacles hadn't upped and died on us. While he was happy to sit out there working that farm of his, the rest of them were happy to toil in peace and quiet as well."

Leonidas gave an empathetic sigh. The other man was right of course. Soriacles had been a strong voice in the Helot community when he had been a slave. After being freed following Marathon, his voice had faded when he had retired to the country. Those among the Helots had still used his name as a rallying cry though, and there had been some talk of him channeling money back to the city so that more Helots could buy their freedom. His recent death had only added fuel to the fiery relations between the Spartans and their indentured lower class.

"Any word yet on what happened to him?" he asked.

Demosthenes only shook his head in response.

"Apparently he went out with a small party of his guards earlier in the day, but didn't say where he was going or why. His wife found him dead out in the fields a couple of hours later. No sign of the guards though." He sank back in his seat and gave a tired groan. "The word among the Helots is that we poisoned him, naturally."

Leonidas shrugged.

"I can think of some more obvious possibilities," he said.

Demosthenes rolled his eyes.

"Can't we all," he said. "If you have to pay people to fight with you, how can you expect loyalty?"

He nodded toward the mercenary called Athelis, seated close by but at a separate table. He was sitting with Callisto and Monocles, surveying the surrounding tables with a hawk like stare. It was almost as if he were looking for something... or someone.

"You brought that one here," he said. "Any idea what we can expect from him?"

Leonidas grimaced. Athelis was the one part of all of this he had not expected. In truth he was not sure which way Monocles' bodyguard would lean, but then he was not concerned either. After all, what possible worry could a common mercenary be to them?

"_I _didn't bring him here," he protested, "Monocles hired him. I expect he'll go where the money is though, which makes him nothing to worry about," he said.

"Why did you invite any of them here in the first place?" Demosthenes said, eyeing the small group disdainfully. "None of them truly belong here, especially not now!"

He scrubbed a hand through his greying hair frustratedly.

"I suppose I can see the wisdom of bringing this Callisto," he admitted grudgingly. "There's some value in having a psychopath on side, especially if she can bring troops to bear, but the other two..." he shook his head. "What use is the Athenian?"

"He's a historian, like Herodotus before him,"

"Hah!" Demosthenes snorted derisively. "We're about to be plunged into a war, whether or not we want to be, and you bring an Athenian here to read books and scrabble in the dirt looking for our past! We know what our forefathers did! We tell the stories every day in some form or other. This whole city is a monument to them."

Leonidas sighed. Demosthenes wasn't thinking things through. He was trapped in the old ways of thinking. To him Sparta could survive as it was for a thousand years. There strength and skill at arms would carry them through any challenge, so there was no reason for them to change or adapt to the world around them. It was becoming frustrating. How could he make him see!? After Marathon, such thinking was no longer enough to guarantee their future. Instead all it would succeed in would be dooming them to a footnote in one of Monocles' histories.

"We know what our forefathers did," he nodded in agreement. "But not where they all are..."

He let his words hang in the air for a moment as Demosthenes flashed him a look of sudden understanding.

"You're looking for..."

Leonidas only nodded in response. Demosthenes let out a long low whistle.

"But what will that achieve?" he asked.

"If I can prove the divinity of my lineage, I won't need the Ephors' consent for war. I will have a mandate from Ares himself."

Demosthenes regarded him levelly.

"Quite the play," he said.

"If Monocles succeeds, a decisive one," Leonidas said.

Demosthenes snorted.

"Not at all decisive. For starters I wouldn't trust the Ephors to recognise such an ancient piece of temple dogma as valid law. Second, Ares has abandoned us, or have you forgotten Marathon? What worthwhile God of War would not revel in that battle, yet his favour did not touch us that day did it." The other King shook his head. "No, faith in Olympus will not bring us through this. The Persians are coming in even greater numbers than they did then, and our own ranks are still not fully recovered. We need numbers Leonidas, not Ares' mandates and history lessons."

"I remember Marathon all too well, and I'm not disagreeing with you!" Leonidas said, pressing his argument. He needed Demosthenes and his men. He needed all the troops he could get! "I've already sent envoys to the Athenians. I'm fairly sure that their response will be positive as well. They remember Marathon as well as we do."

"Athenians!" Demothenes said, not even trying to hide the contempt in his voice. "Hardly trustworthy allies."

He snatched another tankard of ale from a passing Helot and took a long pull on it before slamming it down angrily on the table.

"Where were they when our people were dying to save them eh? Where were they when the Persian arrows were falling like rain? Or when that damnable cavalry was flanking our infantry? Waiting in the wings, that's where! Waiting for us to fight and die so that they wouldn't have to!"

He finished barely shy of a furious shout, drawing a few concerned glances from neighbouring tables. Slowly, he took a deep breath to steady himself and reached for his tankard again, taking a second long pull from it, as if somehow the answer to everything would be found at its bottom.

"Besides," he continued, a little more evenly. "Your forgetting the Helots. If you take our forces out to meet the Persians, even with the Athenians at your side, you'll strip us of the ability to keep them in line. You may save Greece, but that won't matter a jot if there isn't a Sparta to come back to."

"Not if I can take them with me," Leonidas replied with a confident smile.

Demosthenes regarded him steadily.

"So, you're counting on Ithius then?"

"I've known him a long time. He'll listen to me when what I'm saying starts making sense."

Demosthenes gave a dry laugh.

"You're making precious little so far," he said. "And I've got less faith in your pet Helot than you do..."

"He's a freedman Demosthenes," Leonidas cut him off firmly. "He should be spoken of as such."

The other King regarded him steadily for a moment then the slightest of apologetic nods.

Suddenly a Spartan soldier appeared at Demosthenes' side, a worried expression on his face as he placed a confiding hand on the King's shoulder. He leaned in close, speaking in a low voice in the King's ear.

Leonidas turned away, not wanting to appear to be listening in. Instead he swept his gaze across the room again, and frowned. The Persians had disappeared. That was hardly surprising. They had not looked to be enjoying themselves and after a such long journey, had probably retired for the night. What was disconcerting was that they had not announced their departure, nor had he seen them leave.

He continued to scan the room, searching for any trace of them but could find none. Instead his gaze settled on Callisto. She was still seated with Monocles and Athelis, and seemed to be talking with Monocles. More specifically, she seemed to be being talked to _by_ Monocles who was, as usual, gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

He leaned forward across the table studiously as he regarded the blonde warrior woman. Try as he might, he still could not get a good read on her. She had played her part well in the council chamber, but not how he had imagined she would and he still was not even sure if the Oracle's prophecy regarding her could even be trusted. It wouldn't be the first time such a prophecy had not proved true to its word.

When Miranda had first spoken to him of Callisto, he had imagined the woman he had heard tell of. She was supposed be all fire and fury, a terrifying warrior to be feared but respected, and a valuable ally if you could keep her in line. The woman he had met on the trail was different though. She just seemed so damaged, and not at all the strong, confident figure from out of the stories. There were flashes when he spoke with her, times where he could see the anger blazing hotly behind those big brown eyes, but so much of the time she just seemed... what... empty? Hollow? It was as if she were a guttering fire, sparking and burning occasionally but slowly dying away, until someday, maybe soon, there would be nothing more left of her than drifting smoke and ash.

"Best talk sense to Ithius quickly then," he heard Demosthenes say to him. "We may need his help sooner than you think."

He twisted in his seat to look at the other man. Demosthenes was wearing a grim expression.

"What's happened now?" Leonidas asked.

"My guard have the watch tonight," the other King replied. "Apparently there's been a crowd of Helots gathering outside the Inner City gates. Their numbers have been growing steadily since the Persians rode through."

Leonidas frowned. This was a new development.

"What do they want?" he said.

"To be let inside. They're worried that when the Persians come, they'll be caught outside the city's defences and slaughtered."

"A reasonable assumption," Leonidas said.

Demosthenes nodded.

"I know," he said. "Don't you just hate it when they do that?"

* * *

Callisto was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. It had been a long day on the road, and heading straight into the council meeting had not helped matters. Combine all of that with her lack of settled sleep over the past few nights, and the exhaustion was beginning to mount up. Monocles' ceaseless prattle was not really helping matters either. She sat with her hands wrapped around a tankard and sighed. The ale inside the tankard was untouched and had gone warm over the hour or more she had been sitting here.

"You're not drinking that?" Athelis said next to her.

She shook her head. She did not drink, and holding the tankard was more a way to keep her hands occupied, in case she felt the sudden urge to reach across the table and throttle Monocles.

"...and then I got the summons!" the little Athenian was buzzing excitedly in her ear. "Can you imagine my luck! I have studied the Spartans and their history for so long, but its just so difficult! It's almost unbelievable; a people like this, with a past so rich and fascinating, and yet they don't keep written records!? I mean honestly! Nothing! Not a quill placed to parchment! It's all oral record, passed from father to son, mother to daughter, told in drunken revels and campfire stories! All of it is embellished, added to and transformed, over and over again, as it passes from ear to ear until nothing of truth remains! That's not history my dear lady! That is fiction! Fiction I say! But finally there is someone who understands, someone who appreciates the true worth of what I do, and a Spartan King no less! This will be the opportunity of a lifetime. The chance to record in detail the changing of an age, and to look back into their past with an eye to curate..."

He continued to natter on meaninglessly and Callisto turned to face Athelis with a roll of her eyes.

"How long does it take to get to Athens from here?" she asked curiously.

"About a month on foot. Why? You planning on taking a trip?" The mercenary gave her a slanted grin.

Callisto shook her head.

"I'm just trying to figure out how you managed to keep from killing him in his sleep," she said.

"It was tempting," Athelis replied. "But then, who would have paid me?"

"_I'll_ pay you if you do it tonight," she said, only half joking.

Athelis said nothing; instead he stroked his chin thoughtfully as if giving her proposition serious thought.

"...will be a challenge finding the tomb obviously," she heard Monocles say, "...but then can you imagine the prestige if I did!? The long lost Tomb of Lycurgus, the final proof that the Agiad line are true descendants of Ares!"

Callisto's ears perked up at the mention of the war god. Something about that had tickled the back of her brain.

"What did you say?" she said, twisting to face him.

"About what?" Monocles said, looking startled that she had actually spoken. Clearly he had not been expecting her to.

"About descendants of Ares," Callisto said. "You've talked about that before haven't you?"

Monocles nodded.

"We spoke about it earlier I believe. Why?"

"You said Leonidas was a descendant of Ares," she pushed. "What did you mean by that?"

Monocles smiled, obviously happy to be getting the chance to indulge himself further in a subject he was passionate about.

"Spartan tradition has it that the Kingships are held by certain blood lines," he began, "Leonidas' bloodline is the Agiad line. They are the oldest of all the royal bloodlines, dating back to the first King named Lycurgus. Lycurgus was said to have been the product of Ares' union with a mortal woman..."

Callisto shook her head ruefully.

"Just like daddy," she muttered.

"I'm sorry?" Monocles said with a confused frown.

"Nothing," Callisto said. "Continue."

Still looking confused, but not letting that get in his way, Monocles launched back into his explanation.

"Lycurgus was a favoured son of Ares, and when the Spartans conquered these lands and enslaved the Helots, Ares himself granted his son the right to rule, and rule he did. It was Lycurgus who set down the first laws of Sparta, including those regarding the powers granted to the Ephors. Only Lycurgus and his direct heirs could override them, and even then, only on a religious basis. At least that's what I believe the history to be."

Callisto's brow rumpled in a thoughtful frown. If this was true, why was Leonidas so powerless before the Ephors?

"So why all the umming and ahhing in the Council?" She asked. "If Leonidas is an heir of the Agiad line, can't he just declare some kind of war in Ares' name against the Persians?"

Monocles smiled again and shook his head. Callisto sensed another lecture coming on and did her best not to sigh. Instead she folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow at him, a subliminal signal for the little man to keep his answers short.

"Because the Spartans don't keep written records of their history or their bloodlines," Monocles said, completely missing her warning look and blustering on regardless. "The royal bloodlines have become somewhat tangled over the centuries and Leonidas' Agiad lineage, while strong, is not necessarily traceable back to Lycurgus himself. If he attempts to push that law now, the Ephors will simply deny it citing lack of proof for his mandate."

"Which is where this tomb comes into things I take it?" Athelis said.

Callisto glanced over her shoulder at him. She had not realised he had been listening. Monocles gave an excited nod.

"The location of Lycurgus' tomb was lost long ago. Again, the result of the Spartans not keeping adequate records. It is a solid piece of the chronology though, a starting point where Leonidas himself marks an end. If I can find documentary evidence that fills in the gap between, then Leonidas has his link, and I have my history!"

"But you said there were no documents," Athelis said.

"Not direct records no, but experience has taught me that there is always a trail of parchment to follow if you look hard enough and show a little imagination when filling in the blanks." Monocles gave them a self satisfied grin

Callisto was about to reply when she felt a sudden tension in the air. Next to her Athelis had suddenly gone rigid, his jaw clenched tightly shut as a familiar figure emerged from the crowd of Spartans to seat himself opposite them.

"Greetings friends," Pelion said, placing his withered hands flat on the table and smiling warmly at them. He turned to look at Callisto. "I must say, it was quite a surprise to see you in the council earlier."

Callisto regarded the old priest steadily.

"Likewise," she said.

She had not really spoken to him a great deal at Penthos. He had existed on the fringes of that community and had generally kept himself out of people's way. Still, she remembered what Silas had told her about him; how he had recruited Perites and Marsus to join him and how they had worshiped at the strange rock formation called the Headstone outside the village. Thinking of the Headstone brought back other memories too; memories of Methades, a treacherous mercenary commander she had cornered there, and of two hundred gold coins spilled across the floor and stained with crimson. She had hoped to feel some kind of satisfaction after what she had done there that night. She supposed she should not really be surprised that it hadn't worked, and instead had just left her thinking about Silas' death and the gnawing emptiness inside her.

"I am sorry," Pelion continued, changing the subject to include the others. "I am being rude. Allow me to present myself. My name is Pelion and I am an acquaintance of the good lady you are dining with this evening."

Callisto snorted.

"Most people wouldn't describe me that way," she said.

Pelion gave her a wry look.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he said. "I think perhaps you underestimate others' opinions of you. You did save Penthos after all, and it was my home for several years don't forget. I would have hated to see anything unduly bad happen to the place."

"You saved a village?" Athelis said, sounding genuinely surprised for the first time since she had met him.

"It was an off day," she replied, never taking her eyes of Pelion.

The old priest smiled.

"A very good off day. But we are getting distracted again." He turned to look between Monocles and Athelis. "I remember you both from the council, but I do not believe we have had the pleasure of being formerly introduced,"

"Athelis," Athelis said simply, his voice surprisingly hard.

As Pelion turned his gaze on the mercenary, Callisto could not help but notice the way the two of them locked stares. Clearly Pelion had lied about not knowing Athelis. The two had obviously met before.

"My name is Monocles," the little historian chipped in with a welcoming smile and extended his hand across the table. "You are of the Followers are you not?"

"I am indeed," Pelion said, dragging his eyes away from Athelis so that he could take Monocles' hand and give it a firm shake. "But how, if you do not mind me asking, did you know that? Our brotherhood is small and not so well known in Athens I believe."

"The symbol of the sickle," Monocles said, nodding toward that same symbol, stitched in a dark crimson on Pelion's robe sleeve. "I have seen it before in connection with your order. A loaded image I do believe, although I cannot remember precisely with what else I might have seen it associated."

"Ah, but of course," Pelion nodded. "It is a symbol of bountiful harvest, something we pray to our Lord for everyday."

Callisto watched Pelion closely as he spoke. Something in the back of her mind was itching. It was that self same instinct that told her when someone was lying, and she could feel a discomforting feeling bubbling darkly in her gut. Why did she not trust Pelion? She had barely spoken to the man before, and when she had, it had only been when he had tried to get her to escort himself, Perites and Marsus up to the Headstone.

Perites.

What had he been doing on the road, and why had he been trying to kill Monocles? Was it even Monocles he was trying to kill? She glanced sideways at Athelis who sat completely still, his stare unwavering and still fixed on Pelion.

"And who is this Lord of yours?" she asked, "I've never heard any priest of Olympus not name their god before."

"That is because he is not an Olympian," Pelion replied simply. "He is so much more than that to us; no mere divine observer who we pray and sacrifice to on the off chance they will grant us some petty boon, or favour. He has saved each and every one of us from darkness and despair."

He leaned back on the bench, crossing his arms so that his hands sat inside his sleeves.

"He offers us hope," he continued. "Hope for a better world in this life, and not just the vague promise of an eternity in Elysium or Tartarus. We follow him because he gives our lives purpose, for when a life has no purpose, it loses all meaning."

He turned to regard Monocles, his eyes keen and measuring.

"You are clearly a man with purpose my friend," he said with a nod, and Monocles smiled. "A very clear one too. You seek to make the past whole. To fill in the gaps so that we may all understand it better. A laudable goal, for if we do not know where we have been, how can we ever know where we are going."

Slowly he turned to look back at Callisto and she felt the sudden urge to shift in her seat under his steady gaze. With a great deal of effort she managed to stop herself from squirming, and instead, she folded her arms and leaned forward across the table, meeting his gaze with a challenging stare of her own.

"Neat trick," she said. "Now do you want to try it on me?"

Pelion studied her for a short while, his expression gradually becoming more and more pitying.

"You're not so easy," he admitted. "But far from impossible. You are in pain, am I right?"

She tilted her head slightly but said nothing, only continuing to stare evenly at him.

"Yes," Pelion nodded to himself. "A great deal of pain... and emptiness. You are a directionless soul, adrift and suffering, with nothing to anchor yourself to. I can see so much tragedy in your eyes, so much pain and hate, but I am forced to wonder how much of it was of your own making?"

Callisto's brows drew closer together in a scowl and she could feel her teeth grinding together as that familiar feeling of anger turned inside her. His words struck a chord deep down in her, in a way that made her throat ache. She sniffed, but Pelion did not even seem to notice. Instead, he leaned forward too, matching her gesture and fierce glare as he rested his elbows on the table in an earnest manner. Utterly unintimidated by her, he continued on.

"You had a purpose once, I think," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "It was all consuming, the only thing that mattered to you, and you did anything to achieve it. Anything. It lead you down a dark path, but you walked it gladly, didn't you? All those bodies you climbed over, all the destruction and heartache you caused, and all for a chance peace, at freedom. But in the end it was all lies wasn't it? Sweet, sweet lies that you told yourself again and again and again. None of it was your fault, not really. You had your reasons. Reasons that no one else could understand. How could they? After all, who else in the world had suffered like you had suffered? Then suddenly, as if by magic, the blinkers were lifted. All the lies and the deceptions, gone in an instant, and instead you were left only with the hideous truth. All that destruction, all your victims, they started to stare back at you didn't they? So now here you are, lost in the wilderness, casting blindly about, while you search for a different ending, a new truth, a peace that will finally put an end to all that anger, and all that pain."

He leaned back again, finally finished. He untucked a hand from his robes and reached for a nearby dish to pluck a small from fig from it and pop it into his mouth with a curious half smile

"So," he said, his voice genuinely inquisitive, "How did I do?"

Callisto could not hold back any more. Everything he had said had cut her closer to the bone than she had expected, and now her anger was bubbling dangerously close to fury. Her hand shot out rattlesnake fast, seizing him by the robes and hauling him forward across the table with a clatter of crockery and a loud cry of surprise from Pelion himself.

"You think you understand my pain!?" she sneered, bringing her face close to his. "Every day, _every single day,_ I see my home in flames, I hear my family scream, and all the while I sit there, impotent with rage, knowing that the person who did that to me is still out in the world, and that somewhere along the line her pain lessened, while mine didn't! Do you know what the worst part of it all is though? The worst part is that now I know, no matter what I do, it will never stop! I will never be rid of it! Not even after I DIE!" She ended in a vicious shout that drew surprised looks from other tables.

"But that's where you're wrong," Pelion said, so softly that she was certain no else could hear. "Our Lord can make it all go away! He can take all that pain and hate inside you and give it direction. He can make it so that it will never hurt you again!"

Callisto's sneer faltered for a moment, and in the pit of her stomach, the fire guttered slightly. Was he serious? Did he really know some way to bring it all to an end? It sounded too good to be true. But then so did the God of the Underworld making a deal to forgive her sins and allow her passage to Elysium.

Her upper lip twitched slightly as she felt the fire catch again, burning brighter than ever before. She was tired. Tired of being used, tired of having other people make a mockery of her suffering. She balled her hand into a fist, ready to strike him in that oh-so-smug smile, when suddenly she felt a hundred different pairs of eyes on her. In the past she would not have cared. She would have happily gutted Pelion on the spot as a message to those around her. Things were not that simple anymore though.

With a loud and furious snarl, she shoved him roughly back into his seat before whirling to face the rest of the room. The revelry that had surrounded them had fallen silent. Leonidas and Demosthenes were both sitting at the head table, eyes wide in surprise, as was everyone else in the room. All save Athelis, who still had not taken his eyes off Pelion. Something about the way everyone was staring irritated her. Who did they think they had been dealing with? She was not some jumped up sheep herd posing as a warlord like the ones Xena had regularly trounced and sent running for the hills. Nor was she some pet they could yank this way and that on a choke chain to be unleashed whenever they felt like it.

Without thinking, she dropped her best bow, as if she were a bard taking applause.

"Would anyone be interested in an encore?" she sneered sarcastically as she straightened. Silence was her only reply.

"I guess not," she said, and turned for the door, her boots beating a steady rhythm on the cobbled floor as she stalked out past the rows of seated Spartans, her head held high and imperious.

"I need some air," she muttered to herself.


	8. Chapter Seven: Silver in Shade

**Chapter Seven: Silver in Shade**

As she emerged out into the palace courtyard, Callisto felt a cool breeze playing across her face and tugging at her hair. She tried to calm herself, letting out a long low breath, while flexing and rolling her fingers at her side. It did not work and, before she could stop herself, she was pacing angrily back and forth along the length of the courtyard.

Nearby a battered old wagon sat at the edge of a circle of light cast by one of the brightly flaming torches spread around the edges of the courtyard. A number of men were seated in and around it, drinking steadily. A few of them turned to watch her curiously, but Callisto ignored them.

Could Pelion have been telling the truth? Could he really help her find release from the hatred and pain that, even now, was still torturing her? Could he really make the nightmares stop? Could he truly help her find peace? She shook her head angrily. It was nonsense, of course, every last bit of it. All lies and half truths. People with far more power than Pelion had offered her much more and failed to deliver. Ares, Hera, Hope; they had all made deals with her, using and twisting her hatred of Xena to suit their own purposes, only to try and cast her aside the moment she ceased to be of use. Why was she even entertaining the idea that Pelion was any different? He was not, of course. But if that was true, why was she trusting Zeus and Hades to fulfill their bargain with her? For the first time since returning to the world, she felt a sense of deep, dreadful despair settling over her. It was a feeling she had not felt for a long time, not since her family had been...

The thought of her mother, of her father and of her sister was like throwing a cauldron of boiling oil onto a blazing inferno. She threw her head back as her anger reached a crescendo, the fury erupting from her in an unbridled scream of purest impotent rage, bellowed to the heavens above as if she expected Zeus to answer. When she finished, she was breathing hard, her fingers splayed with the tendons of her hand stretched taught beneath her skin, while the cool night breeze continued to pull insistently at her hair.

"Well, I can hardly say I'm surprised," came a fresh voice from over her shoulder. She span to face the speaker and was surprised to see the Persian guards from the council chamber standing behind her.

One of them, presumably their captain based on his longer surcoat and emerald set sword pommel, stepped forward, separating himself from the group but still keeping a safe distance from her. It was he who had spoken.

"After all," he continued, his voice thickly accented but still obviously mocking, "if one hires crazy, one should expect crazy."

Callisto cocked her head slightly and nodded toward the open space between them.

"Care to take two steps forward and say that?" she said, reaching back over her shoulder to finger the hilt of her own sword suggestively.

The Persian captain gave a half amused grunt and nodded to his men, who quickly fanned out around her. Like their captain, they remained a safe distance from her, their hands hovering warily above their sword pommels.

"We did not come here to fight with you, pretty girl," said the captain, and Callisto gritted her teeth at the last part, her anger from earlier finding fresh focus with the Persian's taunting tone.

"You shouldn't have come at all then," she snapped, and in an instant she had her sword drawn, the blade held straight out in front of her, the bare steel glinting wickedly in the torchlight. The Persians responded in kind, their heavy looking scimitars hissing free as the men about her parted their legs in wide opening stances.

"Enough!" came a third voice that Callisto recognised all too well. Her eyes narrowed as Hutâna stepped out of the shadows and into the center of the ring of Persians, both hands raised, palms empty, as he had done in the council chambers earlier.

"My man here speaks the truth," he said, motioning for his guards to lower their swords. ""We only came to speak with you,"

Around him, the guards did as he had instructed, the captain the most grudgingly, and the last to do so. Callisto did not lower her own. Instead she fixed Hutâna with an even stare.

"I'm not so good at talking," she said, "I tend to lose my patience, and when I lose my patience other people start losing limbs."

Hutâna eyed her sword and gave a small, almost imperceptible swallow.

"Very droll," he said. "Would you at least here my proposition?"

Callisto shifted her balance slightly, still not lowering her sword, and gave him an 'I'm listening' look.

"Sparta is a doomed city," Hutâna began, motioning expansively to the world beyond the palace walls as he did so. "The God King Xerxes will have this land, one way or another. Now, you seem like a..." he looked at her strangely, as if he could not believe what he was about to say. "...a rational woman."

Callisto smirked at that but let him continue.

"The God King is most rewarding to those who show loyalty to him. Gold, jewels, a city to rule, your most hated enemy's head on a silver platter; all of it could be yours if you agree to serve him."

Callisto's smirk slowly grew more wicked. She had heard this kind of talk before. People trying to sway her with material rewards, as if she were some common-garden mercenary to be haggled with. She had to admit though, the image of Xena's head mounted on a dinner plate with an apple in its mouth did lend her a certain amount of satisfaction.

"You said anything I want could be mine," she said, giving Hutâna a long lingering smile, "but I'm the kind of person who needs a show of good faith. A down payment if you like."

Hutâna frowned at her suspiciously, but nodded.

"Name your price," he said.

"Your fingers," Callisto laughed. "All ten of them should suffice."

Hutâna's face went scarlet with outrage.

"You... that..." he spluttered, "...How dare you!"

Callisto let out a disappointed sigh and lifted her free hand to bite at her finger nails, her pose one of extreme boredom.

"Did you boys hear that?" she asked, her eyes flicking across the assembled Persians. "Your soft little leader here thinks he can welsh on a deal. I think now he owes me interest for wasting my time. How about we add his heart to the deal? I collect organs you see, and I'm only the heart short of a full set."

She took a step forward and suddenly the soldiers were raising their swords again, this time with looks of growing concern. They had clearly not expected her to be quite so sadistic. Good. If they were afraid of her it gave her the edge. She glanced from soldier to soldier, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

"I thought that sounded like a perfectly reasonable arrangement," she looked to Hutâna, "It appears your men don't agree though."

"As well they might!" Hutâna hissed. "They are my _guards_ after all."

"Even more body parts to add to my collection then," Callisto grinned.

Hutâna looked alarmed.

"Surely you would not risk your alliance with Sparta by attempting to kill us?" Hutâna said, looking about at his men, an edge of desperation creeping behind his eyes. "We are their honoured guests after all."

Callisto only shrugged.

"Honoured maybe," she said, "but I don't think many of them like you that much."

He shifted uncomfortably at that, and Callisto flashed him a dark grin.

"Oh what's the matter my sweet?" she laughed. "Diplomatic immunity suddenly looking decidedly less immune?"

Hutâna's lip curled upward in a disgusted sneer as he finally found his backbone, but Callisto could still make out a bead of sweat on his forehead.

"I was foolish to think you could be reasonable," he hissed. "I came here to offer you a place in Xerxes' army. You could have had all the plunder and riches you wanted when the time came for my King's armies to ride rough shod over the Greek city states. Instead, you will be crushed under foot, the same as all the rest of them and I will personally see to it that your head is paraded in front of the Spartans when they finally kneel before us."

"If you want my head," Callisto sneered back challengingly, "you'll have to come and get it!"

"That can be arranged," Hutâna replied, and nodded to the captain. The man gave a cold smile of acknowledgment and raised his sword again. Callisto braced her feet, drawing her sword in close for a tight guard as she readied herself for an attack.

The Persian captain tensed, clearly about to step in toward her, when another voice rang out clearly from the darkness.

"Drop the swords Persians," it said threateningly, "Callisto is under our protection."

A group of men that Callisto recognised as the men who had been sat around the wagon at the other end of the courtyard were advancing on them. They were a ragtag collection, carrying a variety of weapons ranging from staffs and daggers, right the way up to double handed swords and axes. One man even carried a warhammer with a cut down haft that allowed him to swing it one handed. Suddenly, she realised who they were. These men were the Helots she had seen earlier in the council chamber, and at their head, the man who had spoken was another familiar face. Ithius.

"I don't recall needing to be protected," she shot back at them in irritation.

"Who are you?" Hutâna snapped angrily, ignoring Callisto as he turned his attention to the newcomers. "Stay out of this. It is none of your affair."

Callisto nodded.

"I agree," she said. "I still haven't finished my collection yet."

Hutâna shot her an angry glance, but continued to address Ithius.

"I must say the hospitality of you Spartans leaves much to be desired. You invite us into your city as honoured guests, then set this disgusting excuse for an attack dog on us..." he said, motioning toward Callisto.

"Hey!" Callisto snapped indignantly, but Hutâna just ignored her. This was becoming tiresome.

"...Then you proceed to threaten us when we try to defend ourselves! My Lord Xerxes will not look kindly upon this."

"Two things," said Ithius, as his men drew to a halt a couple of paces from the Persians who had now turned to face them; all save the captain who continued to watch Callisto warily. "First, we are not Spartans. We are Helots and we have offered you no such hospitality. Second, since coming here you have done nothing but threaten and intimidate. The Spartans may be willing to tolerate it, but this is as much our home as theirs, and we will not."

"I should have known," Hutâna said, addressing himself to the rest of his men but speaking loud enough to ensure all present could hear him. "These Spartans are hardly worthy of entry into our great empire. Too uncivilised by half, especially when they allow uncultured slaves like these to fight their battles for them. King Xerxes will be most amused to here how the mighty Spartans cower behind farm hands and palace servants!"

The Persians laughed in agreement, but Ithius' eyes flashed dangerously and he took a further step toward Hutâna.

"I am no slave Persian," he said, his voice flat and unreadable. "None standing before you now are, nor will we ever be slaves again."

Suddenly, her was moving faster than Callisto thought she had ever seen anyone move before. One moment he was two strides from Hutâna, and the next he was a full stride closer, sword drawn and in hand, the length of its blade resting casually across the Persian ambassador's shoulder, its edge mere inches from his throat.

"Take _that_ message to your God King," Ithius hissed. The subtle creak of leather sounded loud and strong in the sudden silence as Persian and Helot alike shifted their balances. Callisto flexed the fingers wrapped around her sword hilt, feeling the adrenaline begin to race inside her and the blood pound behind her ears.

Hutâna glared at Ithius for long moments and began to open his mouth to speak when the doors to the palace banged open and Leonidas and Demosthenes emerged from inside, flanked on both sides by large retinues of Spartan soldiers.

"What in the name of Tartarus is going on here!?" Demosthenes bellowed as they advanced across the courtyard to the assembled group of Persians and Helots.

"We were just trying to teach our Persian friends here about how we Helots welcome honoured guests," Ithius replied. "Particularly those who threaten our freedom."

Callisto could hardly help but notice the lack of respect in his voice as he addressed the Spartan king. Demosthenes bristled noticeably at the other man's lack of deference. He stepped up to Ithius, regarding the former slave levelly as he reached out and took the sword blade between thumb and forefinger. Gently, he lifted the sword from Hutâna's shoulder, his gaze never faltering.

"Commendable," he said, and flashed Leonidas a weary look, to which Leonidas only gave an equally weary shrug. Something told Callisto this was not the first time Demosthenes and Ithius had butted heads. "However, as guests of _my _house, their..."

He paused thoughtfully.

"...care," he said finally, "is my responsibility. Do you and your friends understand that?"

Ithius glanced at the Helots around him before looking back to Demosthenes and nodding.

"We understand," he said simply.

"Good," Demosthenes said and turned to face Hutâna. "Please forgive the zealousness of Ithius and his compatriots. They were born slaves, and often lack the social graces those such as you or I take for granted."

Ithius stiffened slightly at that, but Callisto caught Leonidas shooting him a warning glare, and the former Helot remained silent.

"I would have their heads," Hutâna said, gesturing toward Callisto and Ithius in turn. "Never have I been so affronted!"

"Give me time," Callisto smiled. "I'll set a new record."

Demosthenes shot her an angry look.

"I apologise again for their behaviour," he said. "Unfortunately though, they were both invited to the celebrations tonight as honoured guests and as such are under my protection," he paused to fix Hutâna with a steady gaze.

"As are you and your men," he said meaningfully. For the first time Hutâna seemed to realise just severely he and his men were outnumbered. He glanced around uneasily and let out a light cough.

"Yes... well..." he began and coughed again. "I trust that you will do your utmost to ensure that they will be of no further disturbance to myself and my guards?"

"Most assuredly," Demosthenes said with a gracious nod. Callisto barely caught the irritated 'you owe me' glance he threw in Leonidas' direction as he did so.

"And now, I think you must be exhausted from all the excitement of today. The festivities are ended for this evening. Do allow my men to escort you to your chambers. I am sure you will want to be well rested for tomorrow's council meeting."

Hutâna nodded.

"Yes, yes quite so. Quite so," he turned to his men. "Come then. It's high time we retired for the evening. We shall leave these..." he glanced disdainfully back over his shoulder at Callisto and Ithius, "...individuals to their revelry. We have more important business to attend to."

He turned and began to stride away, his guards falling in around him with Demosthenes' soldiers flanking them in turn. Demosthenes' shoulders slumped wearily as they strode away and he turned to Callisto.

"What do you think you're playing at!?" he demanded angrily once they were out of earshot. "First you assault a guest in my great hall, and in full view of everyone else present! Then you come out here and decide to pick a fight with the ambassador to an empire that is, at this very moment, poised to sweep across the face of Greece and kill or enslave us all!"

He took a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. It didn't work.

"What do you plan to do next to insult them?" he snapped, "Juggle Xerxes' first born over a fire pit? Or maybe you'll just send him dirty limericks regarding his mother and an unclean relationship with an Olympic discus thrower? Just how hard are you trying to get them to declare war on us?"

"I'm not trying to get them to declare war on anyone," Callisto replied as evenly as she could manage, even though she could still feel the anger surging within her. "Just trying to find out how much spine they have."

She glanced at Leonidas.

"The answer is not much by the way,"

Leonidas frowned thoughtfully.

"Care to explain?" he said.

Callisto re-sheathed her sword and crossed her arms firmly.

"They're like the village bullies I used to have run ins with back home," she said, doing her best to ignore the gnawing ache in her gut that always accompanied thoughts of Cirra. "They like to hunt in packs, try to intimidate you to get what they want. Stand up to them, bloody their noses a bit, and they'll quickly think twice about trying to intimidate you again."

Demosthenes let out a short barking laugh of derision.

"This is not some backwater farmyard spat," he snapped. "This is the Persian empire we are dealing with! How would you suggest we, a single city, bloody their nose?"

Callisto shrugged.

"Hit them," she said, and when Demosthenes rolled his eyes she added, "hard."

Demosthenes shook his head and reached up to to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers in a pained gesture.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, turning away from her to leave, "I think I have endured quite enough nonsense for one night."

He gestured toward the palace gates.

"Get her out of here Leonidas," he said as he began to walk away from them. "I don't want her causing any more trouble here tonight than she already has."

Callisto placed her hands on her hips.

"He's scared of me!" she called after Demosthenes. "He tried to get me to switch sides. What does that tell you?"

"Very little," Demosthenes shot back as he reached the doors to the palace, "especially since I'm not even sure _whose_ side you're actually on!"

With that, he disappeared back inside, the doors closing loudly behind him.

Leonidas turned to her.

"What _did_ happen out here?" he asked.

"Just what I said," Callisto replied. "You called it right. They're nervous about me."

Leonidas expression changed back to one of thoughtfulness.

"I can vouch for that," Ithius said. He was re-sheathing his sword while the rest of his men started back toward the wagon. "You've found yourself a dangerous ally Leonidas."

Callisto turned to look at him steadily.

"Yes he has," she said. "and I'm more than capable of looking after myself. I'm certainly not some frail little damsel in distress in need of a big strapping warrior to come and rescue me. I'll give you a little tip. Next time you think you see me in trouble and want to help out, don't."

"Grateful as well," Leonidas laughed, but did his best to stifle it when Callisto glared at him.

"Come on," he said, "We had better be heading back to my palace for the night. Hopefully things will be a little quieter there."

It did not take them long to get their horses brought out to them, each saddled and readied to ride. As they waited, Ithius' men loaded up into their wagon, a number of solid looking cart horses being brought out and hitched up while the Helots drank and laughed about the cowardly Persians they had just seen off. Callisto had heard a thousand similar boasts during her time as a warlord and was certainly not surprised to be hearing them again now. Adrenaline could do that to you.

Nearby, Ithius and Leonidas were engaged in conversation. Callisto strained her ears, trying hard to catch the snatches of hushed conversation from the pair.

"...can't explain entirely right now..." Ithius was saying, "...but trouble is brewing. I don't know how long I can keep them under control."

"It won't matter if they fight a revolution to win their freedom Ithius," Leonidas said sternly. "Not if the Persians crush them a month later."

"I know that," Ithius replied. "I might even agree with it, but do you really want to try and take a whole Helot unit into battle? Without me in charge, most of them would as soon turn on you as fight against the Persians, especially after what happened to Soriacles..."

"We had nothing to do with that..." Leonidas interrupted.

"Again, I know that's what you believe," Ithius said. "Again, it might even end up being the truth, but you should know that truth and perception don't always add up to the same result."

He sighed quietly, glancing back over his shoulder at the wagon of drunk Helots.

"Blood cries out for blood Leonidas," he continued softly, "and my people have bled a lot for you in recent years."

"Ithius, please, I have a plan, one that could do a great deal of good for your people. You just need to trust me!"

"I do trust you my King, but I can't take that to the rest of them. You know what they'll say. If you'd just tell me what it is you're..."

"Not here," Leonidas said waving his hand in a conspiratorial manner. "Too many unknowns, too many ears listening. Better that we discuss this in private. How about the old training yard at my palace?"

"It's been years since I've set foot in there," Ithius said, his voice changing to one of wistfulness. "Better times, better days."

Leonidas nodded sadly.

"Indeed they were," he said, letting out a short exhale and straightening slightly.

"It's settled then? We'll meet tomorrow morning in my father's training yard, then I'll..."

Their voices began to fade as they moved away. As they did so, Monocles emerged from the palace alone and carrying the heavy pack slung across his shoulder.

"A most eventful day!" he said, smiling as he crossed the courtyard to Callisto's side. "I heard there was some kind of commotion out here..."

Callisto nodded.

"Just the usual really. Persian ambassador tries to bribe me with riches and power, I threaten him, he says he wants my head on a pike, same old, same old."

Monocles looked somewhat perturbed at that, but less alarmed than he had earlier that morning. He must be getting used to her.

Callisto glanced around the small procession of Spartans as they walked out of the palace, leading her horse behind her with Monocles to her right and Ithius and Leonidas walking some distance ahead, still locked in conversation, while the wagon load of Ithius' Helots rumbled along loudly behind them.

"Where's Athelis?" she said.

Monocles shrugged.

"He left me alone in the banquet hall some time ago. He said something about having personal business to attend to, and I haven't seen him since," he grunted under the weight of his pack. "For hired help, he is remarkably unreliable."

Callisto frowned, as she thought back to the banquet hall and the way Pelion and Athelis had looked at one another. They had known each other. Of that she had no doubt, but what was the nature of their relationship?

As they walked out of the palace and into the streets beyond, the procession drew to an unexpected stop, Ithius and Leonidas both standing stock still. Confused, Callisto went to stand beside them.

"Hey," she said "What's happening? Why did we..." as she drew close, the reason they had stopped became obvious.

The palace was located high on a hill side, and the streets surrounding it were set on a series of tiered slopes that offered a fine view over much of the Inner City and Helot slums beyond. At present, a solid glow, seemingly from hundreds of lit torches, was shining up into the dark night sky from the Helot side of the main gate.

"What's happening down there?" she said softly. "Is it the Persians?"

Leonidas shook his head.

"It's the Helots," he said. "We've been getting reports from the night watch about this all evening, but I didn't realise they were massing in such numbers!"

"My people are getting restless," Ithius said softly. "They think the Persians are coming, and that the Spartans will leave them out there to die."

He gave a low tired exhale.

"If only Soriacles were here. He would've been the voice of reason. He could have kept them calm, talked sense into them."

"Who's Soriacles?" Callisto asked.

"He was the overall commander of Helot unit at Marathon, granted that position by Demosthenes and myself," Leonidas said. "We granted him the honour as he had long been an important figure in the Helot community. He was a slave to the Ephors, but in truth he acted as almost an unofficial sixth member, keeping them appraised of Helot attitudes and general feeling."

"He was our voice," Ithius added, still staring down at the city gates with a worried expression on his face, "though he never really wanted the responsibility. After Marathon, as reward for our service, we were all freed. The commanders, like Soriacles and myself, were all granted land as well. Soriacles took the opportunity to get away from the city, retire from public life."

"And now he's dead?" Callisto said. Based on what she had heard, and the way Ithius was speaking it seemed like a pretty safe assumption to make.

Ithius nodded. He seemed incredibly tired all of a sudden. Tired and worried. Leonidas seemed to sense it too and placed a hand on the former Helot's shoulder in a comradely gesture.

"You will do just fine my friend," he said. "I cannot think of anyone better suited to lead his people."

Callisto rolled her eyes. All this oh-so-manly Spartan 'brothers in arms' stuff was making her want to wretch.

Slowly the procession of soldiers began to move again, and she turned back to stare out over the city as her mind turned things over slowly. Monocles walked up to stand level with her.

"Hardly good news," he said, staring toward the gates and the growing nimbus of torchlight.

Callisto only nodded absently. She could not shake a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something in Sparta simply was not right. Everything just seemed too neatly arrayed against them. How was it that now, after generations of slavery, the Helots, were only just beginning to push hard for their freedom and on the eve of a pending Persian invasion no less? This, even after some two thousand had been freed the previous year as a gesture of good will from the Spartans. This whole business with Soriacles sounded too perfect a coincidence.

She began to walk, her feet beating out a rhythm on the cobbled street in time with the Leonidas' escort. Monocles moved at her side, for once blissfully silent.

What if there was more to all of this than anyone was seeing? What if someone was pushing this whole situation to a head? Who would have something to gain from all of it? The Persians were the obvious choice. It would make sense after all; agitate the Helots, and get the Spartans to think twice about going to war for fear of losing their city to a revolt. The Persian conquest of Greece would be made that much easier with one of the mightiest military forces outside of Rome no longer standing against them. Something about that theory did not sit right with her though. Hutâna and his retinue did not strike her as the types to indulge in such intrigue. They were far too smug and assured of their own victory through sheer force of numbers. No, whoever was behind this was far more cold and calculating than the haughty Persians. But if not them, then who? Thoughts of Perites flashed in her mind. Why _had_ he been out on the road? Why _had_ he been attacking Athelis and Monocles? It was the one loose thread that stuck out clearly in her mind, the one piece of the puzzle that did not seem to fit neatly together with the rest.

Unless...

"Monocles?" she said, her voice low and pondering. The smaller man seemed to be taking in the Spartan architecture all around them. He did not even look at her when she spoke his name.

"Mmmmm?" he said distractedly.

"Earlier you were speaking with someone, the old priest?"

Monocles nodded.

"Pelion," he said. "The man you dragged across the table and threatened? I do remember. We spoke a great deal after you left. A most interesting gentleman. He had a surprising amount of knowledge about history too. Mainly from a theological perspective admittedly, which is of limited interest to me, but nevertheless..."

He was clearly about to head off on a tangent, so Callisto quickly spoke again as he paused for breath.

"What do you know about his religion. He said they didn't worship an Olympian."

Monocles nodded.

"That's hardly surprising. There are many minor cults scattered across Greece; worshippers of outdated, forgotten or foreign deities for the most part. Usually nature spirits and the like. They're often imported from the barbaric tribes far to the north."

"And Pelion's cult? Do you know who they worship?"

Monocles shook his head.

"The Followers are the very definition of a fringe cult. I've never even heard tell of them having true temples. I must admit, I had not expected to see them present in such force here. Apparently their numbers have grown dramatically in recent months. It's all rather surprising now that I think about it to be honest."

Callisto frowned. That was an interesting wrinkle, and it would certainly explain the presence of Pelion and Perites if they were here recruiting.

"Why so surprising?" she said.

"In the past, they've always tended to eke out an existence on the edges of society. Many of the Olympian temples actively shun them, and I heard that some thirty years ago, the temple of Zeus pushed them out of Thessaly entirely."

"Any idea why?" Callisto asked, her brow creasing still further. So they had a history of animosity with Zeus did they? The more she was hearing about these Followers, the less she liked. It was all beginning to sound very reminiscent of Dahak and his cult.

"None," Monocles said, surprisingly concise for once. "They are very closed off, and most scholars have never really cared enough to find out more about them. There was a minor treatise by some Corinthian writer... I forget his name... but he had some interesting theories about them. Completely baseless of course and I never really did make a study of it. Again, it was all theology and I..."

"You talked about the sickle they use for a symbol," Callisto interrupted as he began to drift off topic again. "Do you know what it means?"

Monocles shrugged.

"Sickle's are not uncommon symbolism. They often indicate harvest or times of plenty."

"Any particular meanings that might apply to the Followers?"

"None that immediately leap to mind, but I'm sure there are some," Monocles said, his tone slowly becoming intrigued. "The more I think about it, the more I find my interest in this matter piqued. If you do not mind my asking, why the sudden interest in this?"

"Just a feeling I have," she said, rubbing the pads of her thumb and middle finger together thoughtfully as she walked.

Pelion and his Followers certainly fit into the picture she was painting in her mind. Monocles was here to help Leonidas, and they had tried to stop him. Maybe even kill him? Could they be involved in Soriacles' death as well? She sighed. It was all guesswork unfortunately, but it certainly seemed to paint a more compelling picture to her than the idea of the Persians being behind it, and it accounted for the all the information she had too. She needed more though. She needed to know who they were, who Pelion was, what he wanted and, most importantly, if there had been any truth to what he had said to her in the banquet hall.

She turned to regard Monocles steadily.

"Do you think you could try and find out for me?" she asked.

Monocles smiled and nodded.

"My dear," he said, "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

Hutâna was reclining on a large but uncomfortable couch in the anteroom of his guest quarters, a sizable goblet of mulled red wine nestled in between his fingers. He had been sipping at it slowly for the last thirty minutes or so, while his retainers did their best to make his bedchamber more to his liking.

He glanced around the anteroom glumly. These Spartans truly had no understanding of aesthetics. The room was built of plain and dull stone, the only true sign of extravagance being the cool marble floor, decorated with a large charging bull, the symbol of Demosthenes' royal line. There were no drapes, no statuary, none of the running water features he had expected from a culture as supposedly civilised as Greece, and, most importantly, no cushions!

He shifted irritably on the couch and took another sip of his wine. The taste was bitter but not entirely unpleasant. He glanced up at the captain of his guard. The man was leaning casually against a wall, close to the doors that lead out of the guest quarters and into the palace proper.

"Quite the epicures, these Spartans," he said. The captain cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Who would have thought it," he said sarcastically.

"You doubt my appraisal of them?" Hutâna said, scowling.

"These Spartans," the captain said with a nonchalant shrug, "I find I am unimpressed."

"They fought us to a standstill at Marathon," Hutâna said.

The captain shook his head.

"That was Xena," he said. "We had the Spartans defeated. If she had not stopped our scouts, we would've rolled up their flanks and crushed them."

"Pah!" Hutana snorted with a dismissive wave of his free hand. "One person does not stop an army! You're just smarting from that Callisto woman's defiance."

"My men would have dealt with her had you given us the opportunity," the captain said, his voice low, but the insinuation clear.

Hutâna's scowl darkened. Without a word, he clambered from the couch and crossed the room to stand in front of the captain, the only sound the angry swish, swish of his robes as he walked.

"Try it," he said, thrusting the goblet of wine at the man.

"Never while I'm on duty," the captain said, straightening as he did so.

"Try it," Hutâna said again, his voice firmer this time. "That's an order."

The captain sighed and took the wine from him, lifting it to his lips he took a tentative taste, swirling the wine around the inside of his mouth.

"The Roman vineyards produce finer," he said decisively.

"Oh please!" Hutâna said, his tone exasperated. "More! Drink all of it."

The captain eyed him uncomfortably and tilted his head back, downing the rest of the goblet in a single swig. Without a word he handed the goblet back to Hutâna.

"There now," Hutâna said with a satisfied nod. "In the future, do not try to pretend you are anything more than a common soldier captain. The judgments are mine to make, the orders mine to give, and yours to follow. Do not challenge me again. Do I make myself clear?"

The captain snapped to attention, his posture rigid but his eyes blazing with indignance.

"Perfectly," he said, then ducked his head in a less than respectful bow, "my lord." The last was almost a sneer.

Behind them the doors to the bedchambers opened and Hutâna's retainers came bustling out.

"Your chambers are ready, my lord," said the lead retainer.

"Excellent," Hutâna said, not taking his eyes from the captain. He motioned toward the door with the hand that held the empty goblet. "Now leave me, it has been a long day and I find myself in need of rest."

The retainers each bowed respectfully as one, then hurried past. As they went the captain watched them then turned and headed for the door himself.

"I will make my rounds," he said, "ensure that the perimeter we setup around your chambers is secure."

"You do that," Hutâna sneered as the captain walked out, leaving him alone in the bed chambers.

He gave a deep, exhausted yawn and crossed to the decanter of wine located on a small table next to the couch. Refilling his goblet, he turned and headed for the bed chamber. As he stepped through he gave a sigh of relief. The bed at least looked comfortable. The sheets were purest white linen and his retainers had set a small oil lamp in a wall bracket to the side of the bed. It cast a soft, warm glow across the sheets and the equally white and thin drapes that had been mounted across the windows to provide some degree of privacy. Right now, one of the windows was open and the drapes billowed in the late night breeze. He gave a vexed grunt. He had not instructed the retainers to leave the windows open.

He crossed the room, stepping quickly around the bed and holding aside one of the billowing drapes to peer out into the night. Outside sleep was beginning to settle across the Inner City. The occasional call of the city's night watch the only sound as the rest of the citizenry settled down for the night. In the distance, just beyond the gate, he could see the bright glow of hundreds of lit torches filling the night air. One of his retainers had informed him that the Helots had begun gathering in large numbers and demanding passage into the Inner City. That was good. The more unsettled the situation within the city, the more likely it would be that these Spartans would accept the terms of surrender they were offering.

He took a sip of wine, licking his lips contentedly as he ducked back inside and closed the window behind him. With the window closed, the billowing drapes began to settle, and as he turned, a sudden chill ran up his spine.

He was not alone.

A figure stood in the corner of the bed chamber, clad all in black robes that contrasted sharply with the white linen sheets and drapes all about him. He wore a dark hood that obscured his features and shadows pooled at his feet, seeming to twist and turn unnaturally, as if the light from the lamp did not even touch them. In his hand he carried a long staff, topped with a silver sickle that shone brightly, even in the dim corner in which he stood.

"Who are you!? What are you doing in my rooms?" Hutâna demanded, trying to lend his voice a commanding tone that he suddenly did not feel.

The figure said nothing. Instead he stepped forward, the shadows moving with him, creeping over the drapes like hundred legged spiders. His movements were smooth and flowing, like water over stone, but utterly without sound.

Hutâna felt his knees turning to water, and he backed away, trapped between the bed and the window. Suddenly the door out into the anteroom seemed as far away as the sliver of moon in the night sky outside.

"I'm warning you!" he said, still trying to lend his voice a sense of strength. "My men are outside! I need only call on them, and they will be here in less time than it takes you to utter a single word! You cannot hope to stand against them!"

Again the figure said nothing. He was past the foot of the bed now, advancing inexorably forward, completely undeterred by Hutâna's threats.

Hutâna felt his back press up against the wall of the chamber. He had nowhere else to go. His mouth fell open to call for his guards, but fear gripped his heart as if it were a fist made of ice, and the words froze in his throat, cracking like glass and emerging as little more than a broken whimper.

The shadows were clawing at the edges of his robe, and as they crawled up him, he felt a dark cold settle over him. The intruder was upon him now, a supple palid hand with the strength of a vice, reached out and long fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, holding him fast against the wall. Slowly and with dreadful inevitability, the intruder hefted the silver bladed staff.

"Please!" Hutana managed to whisper. "I'm begging you!"

They were the last words he ever said.

The silver bladed sickle flashed briefly in the lamp light, and the goblet of wine clattered noisily to the ground, the linen bed sheets staining crimson.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: MUSIC TO WRITE BY - Part 2

Another chapter, another author's note. I hope everyone is enjoying the story. Finally after seven chapters of exposition and setup, things are starting to move forward. I did not expect the build up to be quite so lengthy, but I think it should be worth it. As I write, I listen to a lot of instrumental music to try and find the right mood, and I have taken to listening to certain tracks as themes for certain characters. I've listed some of these below so that if people want to they can listen and get an idea of what each character should feel like. The titles of the tracks do not necessarily relate to the characters. Its more the mood of the music I'm going for. Callisto actually has two tracks I listen too depending on the mood I am trying for when I write her.

_character - artist - track title_

Callisto - Two Steps from Hell - Starfall (more heroic mood)

\- Brand X Music - Weaponize (for the more cruel old style Callisto mood)

Athelis - Two Steps from Hell - False King (Choir arrangement)

Ithius - Two Steps from Hell - Black Blade (Underscore, no choir)

Mortius - Brand X Music - Purgatory

Pelion - Two Steps from Hell - Moving Mountains (Choir arrangement)

These are the tracks that most suggest these characters to me. For the story itself, the track that I feel works well as a theme is Brand X Music's Legion track.

Anyway, hope you all have fun reading this latest installment. Stuff should start happening now!


	9. Chapter Eight: Hidden Whispers

**Chapter Eight: Hidden Whispers**

The statues lining the walls were all broken and dismembered. Pelion had seen to that when he and his many Brothers and Sisters had driven out the followers of Artemis that had once called this temple home.

The old priest walked quietly between the ruined statuary now, moving easily and assuredly, despite his age and the slight ache in his hip. At his side he carried a walking staff but it was more for affectation than actual necessity most of the time. The power of his faith lent him more and more strength these days and he awoke most mornings feeling fresh and invigorated in a way he had not felt in quite some time.

The staff clacked softly against the stone as he walked, sounding out a steady rhythm in the otherwise quiet chamber. At the edge of hearing he could make out soft groans and occasional weeping coming from deeper inside the temple, the sound of fresh members attempting to pass the new initiation test. He paid them little mind. The suffering was a necessary part of their faith. All must face their fears, their hatreds, their passions and overcome them if they were to put them in service to their Lord. These latest Brothers and Sisters would pass the test or be found wanting. Either way though, their fate would be decided.

Around him a number of other, more experienced Followers knelt in supplication as he passed. He waved them back to their feet, appearing outwardly humble but at the same time reveling in the new found reverence they had for him. His position as the Faith of their Lord had granted him a higher degree of authority, a taste of power the likes of which he had never possessed before, and, strangely enough, he found that he liked it.

Finally he arrived at the altar at the end of the room, ascending a small flight of steps to reach it. Behind it stood what had once been a huge solid gold effigy of Artemis. Like all the other statues in the chamber, it had been savagely defaced. A large sickle had been daubed in crimson paint across its breast, and the head and arms had been struck roughly from it with hammers. Now they lay upon the altar itself, a pretender god's life symbolically offered up to their great Lord.

Pelion smiled slightly as he dropped to his own knees before the altar. Once, the Goddess of the Hunt would have stood proud and tall, lording over any and all who would set foot in the temple's main altar room. Now though, she was a hobbled and crippled thing, her glory lying shattered and in pieces, much like the temple itself. Soon, all the other gods temples would follow, beginning in this city with Ares, the God of War himself. Pelion smiled at that. He would personally see to it that their faith was spread to every corner of Greece, casting down the Olympians and their petty tyranny wherever they went.

Slowly, gently he pressed his hands flat on the altar and bowed his head toward the ground beneath him.

"Do you hear my Lord?" he whispered softly to himself. "Do you hear my thoughts? So much has been done, and so much more we have yet to do. But do it we shall, in your name and for the glory of your eventual Return. I ask only that you speak to me, that you guide me. Tell me your will, and I will see it done!"

Silence was his only answer.

Pelion gritted his teeth in frustration. He was the Faith of their Lord! Why was he not spoken to as Mortius was? Why was he left to scrabble in the dark, trying vainly to guess their Lord's wishes while another was favoured over him?

He let out a long, even exhale. He should not worry so much. All these years he had kept his faith in their Lord. All these years he had carried out his will. He had never once before doubted that he had been correct in what he was doing, and his newly bestowed title was vindication that his actions had been right all along. He did not need to hear his Lord's voice for further proof of his faith. It was not important that his Lord had chosen to speak to another...

...But it was important. No matter how much he told himself it was not, he could not escape the envy inside him. He must put it to better use though, a use that would serve their ultimate goals, and not undermine them.

A quiet murmur went up through the altar room and Pelion lifted his head to glance back over his shoulder, already certain of what he would see. Sure enough, Mortius had entered. Pelion did his best to keep his face still and not to sneer at the hooded man's arrival.

As always, Mortius moved silently and with a serpent like grace. His long sickle bladed staff was clutched tightly in his hand, and the shadows that always seemed to cluster about him now trailed in his wake. A number of the Followers shifted uncomfortably. Pelion could hardly blame them. Mortius was a far cry from what many expected when they thought of what the embodiment of their Lord's Soul should resemble. True, it was just a title, but he remained a darkly terrible and intimidating presence at the heart of their faith.

As he reached the foot of the steps that led up to the altar, Mortius turned to regard the room, his hood turning first left, then right as he surveyed the assembled Followers.

"Leave us," he said finally. His voice was low and dry, hollow and emotionless. Pelion watched in silence as the Brothers and Sisters bowed respectfully, then turned to file out of the room. Only after they had all left did Mortius turn and ascend the stairs, kneeling beside Pelion and pressing his pale hands, palms down, across the altar in a mirror of Pelion's own pose. He lowered his head and cocked it to the side in that manner he had that suggested he was listening to some far away voice. As if in emulation, Pelion did the same, staring at the floor tiles beneath and willing desperately to hear the same voice that Mortius did. Again, there was nothing.

"I presume all went well?" he said softly, not looking up.

"Well enough," Mortius replied. "The Persian ambassador is dead."

"And so we are one step closer to our war?"

"Not the war they expect," Mortius said, "But yes, our chosen Strength will see to it that we have the war we desire."

"_Your_ chosen Strength," Pelion replied. "I have yet to be impressed by him."

"And who would you have in his place?" Mortius asked, his voice sounding almost disdainful.

Pelion turned his head to regard the robed figure kneeling next to him and was surprised when he caught Mortius staring back at him, dark eyes shining keenly, even within the blackness that obscured the rest of his features.

"The woman is perfect," he said. "She has such passion, such fire. She would be a powerful servant to his will."

Mortius continued to stare at him in silence for a while, his head cocked slightly. Suddenly, without warning, he got to his feet and began to descend the steps.

"She is dead inside," he said flatly, "a directionless husk with no purpose or true desires. Her misery killed her long ago. She is of no use to us."

"You're mistaken!" Pelion protested, clambering to his feet and turning so that he could follow Mortius. "Yes, she is without direction, but she is not without desire! She wants revenge, as our Lord does! We could promise her that revenge, the same way we have promised it to so many others!"

Mortius stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head to look back over his shoulder at Pelion.

"You step beyond your bounds, Pelion," he said, his voice now low and dangerous.

Pelion felt an icy stab of fear in the pit of his stomach, but stood his ground regardless, straightening his hunched shoulders and standing as tall as he could manage.

"Am I not the Faith?" he said firmly. "Did you not tell me that the triumvirate of power ruled with equal authority?"

"But not equal responsibility," Mortius replied smoothly as if he had expected this. "_I_ am the Soul, Pelion. As such the duty of interpreting and carrying out his wishes falls to me. You are the Faith. You manage the Followers and ensure their purest devotion to him and him alone. The Strength is our strong right arm, a weapon to be sent out into the world against his enemies, a hammer to crush all opposition. It is a role requiring the utmost commitment, self assuredness and discipline."

He took a step back toward Pelion, one foot resting on the bottom step of the altar. Around him the shadows surged and boiled angrily.

"This Callisto woman has none of those. She is a selfish, bitter, and twisted thing, full of self deception and with no strength left to make us of. I see nothing of value in her worthy of our attention, and neither does our Lord." He turned away again, making toward one of the side corridors that led deeper into the temple.

"Remember your role Pelion," he said, his tone one of finality, "and do not presume to tell me mine."

With that, he was gone and Pelion was left alone in the altar room. For a moment he could feel an anger like he had not felt in a long time churning inside him. How dare Mortius speak to him that way! He had served their Lord long and faithfully! He had sacrificed so much in his life to their cause; more than any other in fact! He should not be treated in such a way, his opinions dismissed so simply and out of hand!

He span back to the altar and fell to his knees again, pressing his hands flat against the cold stone in the same gesture he had before. Attempting to calm himself, he took a long low breath and held it until it had soaked up all his anger and frustration, and then, in a single long exhalation, he blew it all away so that all that remained was calm and stillness.

He lowered his head to the ground again, squeezing his eyes closed and straining desperately as he reached out with his thoughts.

"I know you can hear me my Lord," he whispered softly. "The dead always can. I am begging you, please, if you value my faith as you value Mortius', speak to me, so that I may do your bidding!"

For long minutes he knelt in silence, desperately praying for his faith to be rewarded. Silence was his only answer.

With an exasperated sigh, he began to clamber back up, suddenly weary and his arms bracing against the altar. He was half way to his feet when he heard it. It was so soft as to be almost unintelligible, a whisper fainter than the lightest breath of wind, just at the edge of hearing.

_"P...!"_

He froze, mid rise, his ears straining desperately.

_"P...l...!"_

Still unable to catch the sound he cocked his head slightly as if the gesture would make the distant whispers that much more audible. Strangely enough, it did.

"_Pelion!"_ the voice said, still soft and difficult to discern, but this time definitely audible.

"My Lord!?" Pelion gasped, his voice breathy and awestruck. "Is that truly you?"

"_Yeeeeesssss" _the voice whispered back, as if echoing from a great distance away.

Slowly, a darkly satisfied smile began to spread across Pelion's face.

"Great Lord Cronus..." he said softly, "...tell me how I may serve you."

* * *

Outside, the mournful howl of stray dog sounded for the fifth time in as many minutes, causing Callisto to role onto her side with a complaining groan. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the soft warmth of daylight playing across her face, and the distant hubbub and chatter of a daytime city echoing faintly in the background. Slowly, almost painfully, she cracked one eye open to be greeted by the sight of her room's clean white window drapes billowing in a warm morning breeze.

With a tired grunt, she rolled onto her front, pushing herself up to kneel on her bed's mattress and glanced blearily at her surroundings. The room was as she remembered it from the night before, plain and quite uninteresting. With its dull stone walls and the complete lack of ostentation one would normally find in such a palace, it certainly lived up to the Spartan reputation of sparsity first and foremost.

Her mouth cracked open in a wide yawn and she stretched, cat like, feeling her knuckles give a series of satisfying pops as she flexed her fingers. Outside the dog howled again, for the sixth time now, and Callisto gave a frustrated growl. For the first time in days, she had managed to get a good night's sleep, dreamless and undisturbed, only to be awoken by the infernal moaning of this mutt. Hopping quickly down from the bed, she stalked angrily over to the window and leaned out.

The outer wall of Leonidas' palace was close by and just beneath her window, between the palace wall and the palace itself, a scruffy looking mongrel was seated on its haunches and howling balefully at nothing in particular. Somewhere nearby, another dog gave an answering cry of its own, causing the dog below to howl even louder.

"Hey!" Callisto yelled down at the wretched animal. Clearly startled, it looked up at the window, its upper lip peeling back in a rictus snarl to reveal sharp, yellowed incisors. Without really thinking about it, Callisto answered the dog's snarl with a vicious hiss of her own. The dog's tail immediately fell between its legs and it dashed off with a pitiful whimper.

Callisto gave a satisfied nod, ducked back inside, and sniffed slightly as the scent of herbal oils filled her nose. She turned and realised a servant must have been into the room while she was sleeping. A wash basin filled with hot scented water had been placed on the bed's plain wooden end table, and a tray of thick soup and fresh baked crusted bread had been left by the door. Callisto's stomach rumbled at the sight of it. She had not eaten much at the previous night's banquet and she was beginning to feel it.

With the dog's howling ceased, she could just make out the sing song clash of weapons, faint but clearly audible, somewhere in the distance. Barely pausing, she splashed some water from the wash bowl across her face, running her free hand through her wild tangle of blonde hair as she did so, in a vain attempt to smooth it down a little. She then turned and grabbed her sword from where she had left it hanging from the end of the bed post the night before. Fastening it across her back in its usual position, she made for the bedroom door, ignoring the soup but snatching up the bread as she passed.

Outside, the room was at the end of a long corridor, as plain an unadorned as everything else in here. At the end, it opened up onto a second floor walkway, edged by a low stone wall, and overlooking a large square courtyard with a sand covered floor. As she stepped out onto the walkway, blinking against the sudden bright sunlight from above, Callisto tore a chunk from the bread and popped it into her mouth. The sound of steel on steel was louder now, obviously nearby. Chewing slowly, she stepped up to the edge of the balcony and rested her arms on the low stone wall. The sun was higher in the sky than she had expected. It would appear she had slept a good portion of the morning away. Still chewing thoughtfully, she looked down to see the source of the sounds of battle. A number of Spartans were clustered in the courtyard, Leonidas and the one known as Sentos who had been at the gates the previous day among them.

A number of the Spartans were engaged in a series of practice drills with spears, shields and swords. Callisto watched them with interest. She was hardly surprised that they were not using wooden training weapons but instead, full steel and bronze, all sharpened to a lethal edge. She smiled to herself. The Spartans never seemed to do things by halves and the best motivator for improvement was the risk of real injury should you fail. That she knew from experience.

Suddenly one of their number shouted out an instruction, and they quickly shifted positions to stand in perfect formation, before beginning a fresh drill. They moved with a calm and practiced efficiency, the kind born of a life time of rigorous control and discipline; shield parry, followed by shield strike, followed by a finishing spear thrust. It looked so simple, their movements so coordinated and in sync that, to the inexperienced eye, the formation looked all but impenetrable. It would only stand as long as all its members did though. Should any of the front rank fall, another would have to step in to take their place. It would be an opening through which a wedge could be driven that would shatter the formation in turn.

With the weakness of their formation tactics exposed, Callisto quickly lost interest, instead turning her attention to the rest of the group gathered below. Leonidas was sparring hard against Sentos, the captain from the gates the day before, and the two men were sweating profusely, clad as they were in helmets and full battle armour in the day's rising heat. Ithius was present as well, living up to his promise from the night before. He was seated at a table that was so incongruously placed in the sandy courtyard that it was clear Leonidas had had it brought out for just this occasion. He was studying something laid out before him, a frown etched across his face.

"Morning!"

Callisto started slightly as a voice called up to her. She glanced away from the center of the courtyard and toward one of the shaded benches around its edge. It did not take her long to spot Monocles, waving cheerily up at her. He was seated all alone, wearing that same single glass eyepiece Callisto had seen him wear the day before, and was surrounded by fragmentary pieces of parchment, old scrolls and even one or two leather hide bound books. Strangely, Athelis was nowhere to be seen. In his hands, Monocles clutched a feathered quill and a few loose sheafs of parchment upon which he was busily scribbling notes with the same verve and enthusiasm Callisto imagined Gabrielle applied to scribbling down her little stories.

She snorted at the thought of that, doing her best to keep her thoughts from moving from Gabrielle to Xena, but it was all but impossible not to. In a way she was surprised. Her thoughts had not dwelled on Xena or her little bardic friend much recently, and, if she was brutally honest with herself, it had been something of a welcome release.

Before that thought had even left her mind, she felt a sudden stab of guilt. Why did it feel so freeing not to think about them? Nothing had changed at all. Her parents were still as dead as dead could be, and Xena still deserved to suffer for it. Of that she remained achingly certain. It was just that, ever since she had helped Hope kill Xena's little rugrat son, she had had trouble making herself care so much about Xena's punishment. Or anything else really for that matter. Penthos had been the one exception, but since then, very little stirred her heart, and her thoughts wandered more and further these days than they had ever done before. The pain remained though, along with the guilty feeling that somehow, she was not doing enough for her family.

In the back of her mind she felt something stir; something dark and hate-filled. Then came the laughter; the same mocking laughter that seemed to sound inside her thoughts more and more these days. It echoed softly now, just outside of hearing, sending a chill down her spine with its aching familiarity. She shook her head, as if somehow that would dispel the dark thoughts she was having, and took a deep breath.

"Why don't you come down and join me?" Monocles continued, gesturing to an empty space on the bench. "I've discovered some things which I think may be of interest to you. Also Seeing Spartan military tactics this close up is most informative!"

"I suppose I have a window in my schedule," Callisto replied, doing her best to hide her sudden unease at the taunting laughter in the back of her mind, and the irritation it conjured in her.

She headed quickly downstairs, and moments later she was stepping out onto the sandy courtyard, moving with her practiced, unhurried gait as the eyes of the Spartan soldiers turned on her. One or two shifted uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with having someone of her reputation so close to their King. She ignored them for the most part, pausing only briefly to throw Ithius a wink as she passed him. The former Helot glanced up at her, frowning, then returned his attention to what Callisto could now see was a large map spread out in front of him.

"So, where's the help?" she said, thinking of Athelis as she slid onto the bench beside Monocles. The smaller man had gone back to poring over his notes. He appeared to be reading through some kind of ledger, not that Callisto could discern much from it. Without seeming to notice her, he reached out to dip his quill in a small pot of ink that sat beside him on the bench.

"Mmmm?" he said distractedly.

Callisto rolled her eyes and batted the bottle of ink across the courtyard with the flat of her hand so that it spilled on the sand and the nib of Monocles' quill struck the surface of the bench, snapping quietly as it did so. The smaller man glanced down at it, then at her, a hurt expression on his face.

"What did you do that for?" he said, sounding genuinely upset.

"Amusement," Callisto replied with a smile of mock apology. "Now, where's Athelis?"

Monocles shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest idea. I haven't seen him since he left last night. His things were brought up to our guest chambers though, so I assume he is coming back and has not reneged on our deal. Of course, if he has, it would be most beneficial for me..." he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "...I haven't paid him yet, you see."

Callisto frowned at that. It was strange that Athelis seemed to have disappeared so completely, but then he had said he had personal business to attend to. There was still the nagging question of his relationship with Pelion though. Unable to think of any relevance his disappearing might have had, she put it to the back of her mind.

"You said you had something for me?" She asked, changing the subject.

Monocles' face suddenly brightened as he remembered and nodded eagerly.

"Oh yes," he said, tucking his broken quill away. "You see, last night after we parted I took the opportunity to head for the city archives. They have quite the library down there would you believe, much as they do not care to admit it..."

"One that's open all night apparently," Callisto said mockingly.

"Come to think of it, the gentleman who answered the door did seem a little put out by my presence, but I assumed that was just because I had to pound quite hard on it to get his attention..."

Callisto sighed. The man really did not seem to live in the same reality as those around him.

"...still, the documents they keep there are quite incredible. There are even tomes in there so old that they date all the way back to before the foundation of the city..."

"I thought you said Spartans didn't keep written records?" Callisto interrupted, with a confused look on her face.

"Not of their own, no," Monocles said. "But they do have records and knowledge they have collected from the other cities and peoples they've encountered over the centuries."

He began rifling through the many scraps and scrolls scattered about him.

"What you said last night intrigued me. The symbology of the sickle and what not. I felt I should know it after all, and so I did a little digging. There are a number of very rare treatises here that even the great libraries of Athens and Alexandria would love to possess..."

"Monocles," Callisto interjected but he did not even break stride.

"...Even Herodotus would crack a smile upon seeing them I'm sure, very dour that man, and quite intimidating too, but then I suppose after so many years spent..."

"Monocles!" she snapped.

"Yes?" he said, blinking in surprise at her sudden sharpness.

"Yesterday was a long hard day, and so far today isn't shaping up to be much better. Don't make it even worse by forcing me to hurt you," she flexed the fingers of her sword hand for emphasis. "Now tell me, concisely mind, what... did... you... find?" She spoke the last words slowly and deliberately, never taking her eyes off the rotund little man next to her. He swallowed nervously and nodded.

"But of course, dreadfully sorry. Dreadfully sorry indeed." He began fussing with the sheets again, his hands shaking a little this time as he tried to locate what it was he was looking for. Suddenly his face split in a broad grin.

"Ah ha!" he announced triumphantly. "Here it is!"

He turned and handed her a bunch of scrawled notes that included dates and sketches of a variety of sickle symbols.

"Just some things I scribbled down, since I'm not allowed to remove any texts from the archives," he said. "Like I told you last night, the sickle symbol is a relatively common one. As you can see, its uses are far ranging and widespread."

Callisto nodded absently, not actually able to make head nor tail of the scribbled notes and drawings.

"The barbarian peoples of Britannia for instance..." Monocles prattled on beside her "...practice a form of nature worship in which their religious caste, called Druids I believe, wield golden sickles as implements of their faith."

"You think Pelion and the Followers are Druids?" Callisto said, tilting an eyebrow at him.

"Goodness gracious, no!" Monocles said. "They don't hug trees or perform human sacrifice for one thing. Most uncivilised people the Druids. No, no, look further down the sheet. There, toward the bottom."

He motioned to a small sketch of a sickle with a bloodied blade.

"_That_ is the symbol the Followers use, and it is one that has a very clear association. One that I'm kicking myself for not recognising sooner I might add."

Callisto frowned. The blood did seem familiar to her. She wracked her brains, thinking hard and slowly, she began to recall a story she had been told when she was very little. It had been about a time before Athens, or Sparta, or even Greece and the Olympians had ever existed; the time when Great Father Sky, Uranus himself, had ruled the world in tandem with Gaia, and how, of all their many children, only one had stood up to Uranus' tyranny. He had been given a great sickle by Gaia herself and had used it to castrate his own father, casting him down and taking his place in doing so. He had become known to the world then as...

"Cronus," Callisto breathed to herself. "They worship Cronus."

Next to her Monocles nodded excitedly.

"Yes!" he said. "Yes precisely. Can you imagine my surprise? Cults to Cronus are unheard of! The temples of the Olympians stamp them out whenever they arise, and Zeus' worshipers are among the most zealous, for obvious reasons. Besides, Cronus is dead. Zeus, Hades and Poseidon destroyed him and cast his spirit into the deepest pits of Tartarus, and there's little worth in worshiping a dead god."

Callisto was about to snap off a retort that it had not stopped the cult of Dahak, when a sudden realisation made her breath catch in her chest. Tartarus! Suddenly it all fell into place. She remembered her most recent visit to the Underworld with crystal clarity. How could she forget the dark shadows that had moved unnaturally in the furthest corners, or the fearful manner of both Charon and Hades. They and Zeus had told her that her killing of Strife, and later her own death at the hands of Xena, had thinned the barrier between the realms of the living and the dead. Could that mean...

"My dear," Monocles said, interrupting her thoughts. "You've gone most pale. What concerns you so? Surely not the Followers? They're a hedge cult, worshiping a dead god trapped in the Underworld. Harmless and nothing to fear from that, I assure you. No one can escape Hades' domain after all."

"Why not?" Callisto said softly, almost bitterly, to herself. "I did."

"What was that?" Monocles asked.

"Nothing," Callisto replied. She tossed aside the bread she had been eating, suddenly no longer hungry and rose back to her feet. She had the sudden desire to be left alone with her thoughts.

Behind her, Monocles shrugged and went back to his papers, pulling out his quill to begin writing again, only to let out a soft sigh when he remembered it was broken.

Callisto lifted her hand to her mouth, biting at her thumbnail thoughtfully as she walked, her eyes focused on the hypnotic drilling of the Spartans while her mind wandered a million miles away. Was this the reason for her return? Had Zeus and Hades conspired to bring her back to clean up a mess she had made? More importantly, was this her ticket to Elysium?

Her mouth twisted in a bitter sneer and a sliver of thumb nail tore free between her teeth. She spat it angrily off to one side. No wonder the Elysium offer had seemed so generous! it was hardly the easiest ticket to earn if she was supposed to go up against a Titan and the crazy cult that worshiped him. Not just any Titan either, but the lord of all Titans who had taken a sickle to his father's nether regions, and then eaten his own children. Even by Callisto's standards, that was a special kind of crazy. The least Zeus and Hades could have done was leave her with her godly powers! The ability to barbecue people at a glance would have been extremely helpful in this current situation.

"You alright?" said a voice at her side.

"Huh?" Callisto said distractedly.

She had wandered close to the table where Ithius stood, and he was now looking at her curiously.

"You look like someone just told you that murder and pillage was actually not a good career choice."

"I don't really think of it as a career," Callisto replied, turning to face him and cocking her head coquettishly, "more as a lifestyle."

Ithius expression did not change. He just continued to regard her measuringly.

"What's that?" she said nodding at the table. Ithius followed her gaze.

"A map," he replied.

Callisto raised her eyebrows at him.

"My my," she sneered, "Such sparkling wit to match that 'I once was a slave' chip on your shoulder."

Ithius only shrugged in response.

"I am what I am," he said, "and apparently, so are you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Callisto scowled.

"Just that I've been keeping an eye on you. So far, you're pretty much exactly what I expected. A shame really. Leonidas will need you to be much more than that."

Callisto opened her mouth to speak when Leonidas himself suddenly appeared at Ithius' side, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder in a calming gesture. The high helmet he had been wearing to spar with Sentos was clutched in the crook of his arm, and a thick layer of sweat had slicked his dark hair flat to his scalp.

"Good to see you two are getting to know one another," he said, glancing purposefully between the two of them. It was a look that spoke volumes, and all of them read 'behave'.

"We were just discussing the finer points of my surprisingly widespread reputation," Callisto said. "Apparently causing death, destruction and mayhem wherever you go is enough to brand you as untrustworthy to everyone around you." She curled a finger in the ends of her hair thoughtfully, and grinned. "Who would have thought it?"

"Indeed?" Leonidas glanced to Ithius, as if for confirmation. The former slave shrugged.

"Sometimes things have to be said," he replied, shooting Callisto a meaningful look.

"And some things are better not mentioned when in public," Leonidas replied and gestured to the map on the table that Ithius had been studying. "Now come, both of you, I wish to discuss what I have in mind for these Persians."

Callisto moved to the table and leaned forward over it on her elbows, her hands clasped together, as she studied the map with a casual eye. It showed the southern peninsula of Greece upon which Sparta was now located. A few important locations, including the city itself, had been ringed in charcoal, and possible troop movements had been marked by long sweeping lines in a similar fashion. She had seen maps such as these in many a warlord's tent over the years. She had even drawn up a few herself.

"Looks like a deployment plan to me," she said and lifted her head. "So you really think it will come to all out war?"

"The Persian's do not appear to be leaving us any other options," Leonidas said with a sigh. "I do not believe war is inevitable, but I do think it will pay to have a plan drawn up should it ultimately become so."

"And how do you plan to address their numerical advantage?" Ithius said. "Demosthenes and I..."

"King Demosthenes," Leonidas interrupted him. "Only last night I insisted he show you the respect you deserve as a free man. Now I ask you to show the same respect due to a King of Sparta."

Ithius glanced up at him and gave an apologetic nod.

"I'm sorry, of course. King Demosthenes..." he corrected himself "...and I rarely see eye to eye, but on this I think we are in agreement. The Persians numerical advantage is simply too great to be bested on the open field, at least not by conventional Spartan tactics."

"My reports say that their numbers are exaggerated," Leonidas said.

Ithius shook his head grimly.

"Your reports are wrong," he replied. "I have better contacts out in the hinterlands than you do remember. Those are my people watching the Persian army mass, and they say that the numbers we've been hearing are, if anything, underestimated."

Leonidas did not challenge this. Instead he simply rubbed a hand across his chin. For the first time Callisto noted the day's worth of stubble building up on the Spartan King's jaw, and the dark circles starting to show beneath his eyes.

"None of those estimates will matter either way if your Ephors don't grow a spine and vote for war," she said.

"I have a plan to deal with that," Leonidas said absently.

"I already know it," Callisto shot back. Leonidas glanced at her, startled for a moment, than slowly his gaze slid from her and over her shoulder to where Monocles was seated on the bench, still shuffling through scrolls and old tomes. Callisto followed his gaze to the little man, then turned back to face Leonidas and grinned.

"He talks too much," she said.

"So it would seem," Leonidas nodded and scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's hardly a fool proof plan, trying to find some old family tomb out in the wilds so that you can stage yourself a coup,"

Ithius glanced between the two of them, surprise showing on his face.

"This is the first I'm hearing of this," he said, sounding confused.

"Why do you think I didn't want to discuss it with you out in the open?" Leonidas replied. "Trying to seize control of the city from a ruling council that has controlled it for centuries is hardly the kind of plan one talks about in public."

Callisto was about to speak up about the Followers and their apparent interest in the tomb as well. They had after all sent people to kill Monocles and Athelis, possibly out of fear that the strange little historian might actually find it. Was that even why they had done it though? Did they know of Leonidas' plan and want to stop it? Did they not want a war with Persia, or did they? She could not even be sure how much they were involved, and what would they have to gain anyway? If what Monocles had told her was the truth, why would a cult of Cronus have any interest in the ancient tomb of a Spartan king? No, she did not have enough information yet. Better to wait until she knew more before she tried to convince them of the dangers that Pelion and his Followers might pose, if in fact, they posed any danger at all.

"It may all be moot anyway," Leonidas said. "Monocles has told me that he may need several days to back track the paper trail he's working on..."

"There's a paper trail?" Callisto said, suddenly surprised. "He keeps telling me that you people are about as literate as a bunch of five year olds."

Leonidas fixed her with an annoyed stare and Callisto raised her hands in protest.

"His words, not mine," she said, then shrugged. "Okay, maybe I'm paraphrasing a bit, but you get the idea."

Leonidas sighed and shook his head, clearly choosing to ignore her slight and move on.

"We do not keep written records of our deeds," he said with a note of long suffering patience, "but a tomb such as the one built for Lycurgus would not have been cheap."

Callisto frowned and looked to Ithius.

"Even Spartans have to have book keeping," he explained.

"You mean he's going through your _accounts!_" Callisto exclaimed. It hardly seemed like the kind of stuff great histories were made of.

"In a manner of speaking," Leonidas said. "The tomb of a Spartan King such as Lycurgus would doubtless need land and stone to be built upon and of. He's attempting to track it through the city's financial ledgers. As I'm sure you can imagine, its a fairly thankless task."

Callisto glanced back over her shoulder to where Monocles was struggling to balance a tome and several long scrolls without getting them all in a tangle. She almost felt sorry for breaking his quill now.

Almost.

"Anyway," Leonidas continued, "even if he can find the tomb, I doubt it will be for several days, by which point this whole situation will have already come to a head."

"Do you really think the Ephors will surrender?" Ithius asked.

Leonidas rubbed his chin thoughtfully again.

"I'm not sure, but either way, I need to be prepared to march."

"Wait a minute," Callisto said, feeling more and more confused as the conversation continued apace with her struggling to keep up.

"You said the Ephors had to vote for war. How can you march on the Persians if they don't?"

"I can't command the Spartan army to war, this is true..." Leonidas began, and suddenly Callisto saw Ithius' face light up with understanding.

"...But your own personal honour guard are under your direct command."

"And they've always liked long walks in the country side," Leonidas smiled.

Callisto's eyes narrowed as she regarded the two of them.

"How many men are we talking about here?" She asked.

"Three hundred," Leonidas replied. "Including myself of course."

Callisto gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"And I thought I was crazy!" she said.

"There's no way you can win!" Ithius protested. "If the estimates I'm hearing are correct, we're talking at least three hundred thousand Persians, maybe more! That's a _thousand_ men to every _one_ of yours."

"Only if I meet them in open combat," Leonidas said. "That was the mistake we made at Marathon. I won't make it again now."

He stabbed a finger at a point on the map where the mountains ran close to the coastline and divided what appeared to be the lands across which the Persians would be advancing and the Spartan territories beyond.

"If they want to keep their momentum up, they will have to pass through here. The Hot Gates at Thermopylae."

Ithius' eyes narrowed as he listened to what Leonidas was saying.

"Their numbers wouldn't count for much there," he said thoughtfully.

"And if they don't go through the pass?" Callisto said.

Leonidas shook his head.

"They won't have a choice," he said. "To go around those mountains any other way would add a month to their conquest. With an army that size, they can't afford the supplies that would eat through. They would quickly demoralise, and Xerxes would have little choice but to turn back. No, they'll come through the Hot Gates, and when they do, I'll be waiting for them."

Ithius looked up from the map.

"You'll need more men," he said simply.

Ithius was right. The Hot Gates would be difficult to hold for long against such a numerically superior force, even with a force ten times the size of the one Leonidas was planning to send. Fatigue would be the biggest factor. The Persians would have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of soldiers to throw at them, while Leonidas' troops would grow more weary and demoralised as the days passed and the casualties mounted.

"I've already got more men on the way," Leonidas smiled. "Demosthenes and the Ephors may not trust the Athenians, but I've been keeping the back channels open since Marathon. I sent envoys to them weeks ago and they returned in the early hours of this morning. The Athenians are already sending soldiers to my aid should I need them."

"How many are they sending you?" Callisto asked.

"Some four thousand," Leonidas replied, a note of doubt suddenly creeping back in to his tone. Callisto could see why. From the look on their faces, she could also see that Leonidas and Ithius had both reached the same conclusion as her.

"It still won't be enough," Ithius said shaking his head.

"That's why I needed to speak with you, old friend," Leonidas said. "I need your people. I need the Helots."

Ithius sighed.

"I knew this was coming," he said. "Leonidas, I told you yesterday, and a hundred times before that, my people have bled enough for Sparta. Why should they continue to do so? The Persians can do no worse to them than your own people already have. They'd only be trading one master for another. What difference is that to a slave?"

"But the Persian's would never free them," Leonidas replied. Ithius' face suddenly went very still as he fixed the Spartan King with a cold stare.

"I thought our friendship was worth more to you than feeble jokes at my people's expense," he said. "Don't toy with me Leonidas. Can you actually do what you are suggesting?"

Leonidas gave a disbelieving laugh.

"Ithius," he said, his tone one of brutal, guileless honesty. "If they march with me, and if we win the day, then all who fought at my side will have been instrumental in saving Sparta! Freedom is the least reward I could give them! But I can only grant it to those who stand with me, and I need them to agree to it. I can't just order them to fight."

"If we go with you, more of my people will die," Ithius said.

"A small price to pay for the possibility of freedom though, don't you think?" Leonidas replied.

Ithius fell silent sitting very still at the table, staring down at the map but not really seeming to see it. Callisto began to drum her fingers against the table's wood grain in boredom. To her the decision did not require any thought at all. Freedom was, after all, something you always had to fight for, but then in her experience, you had to fight for most things you wanted, especially if someone else wanted the opposite.

"Alright," Ithius said finally. "I'll talk to my people, do my best to get them to join you, and to make certain of their loyalty, I'll ride with you too."

Leonidas gave a relieved smile.

"This will work Ithius," he said, holding out his hand. "You'll see."

Ithius took it and shook it firmly but his expression was pensive and concerned.

"What's wrong my friend?" Leonidas asked. "Together we will drive back the Persians, defend our homes and win freedom for a great many Helots. Surely that's not bad for a couple of days work?"

Ithius only frowned down at the map.

"I just have a bad feeling," he said, and pointed to the Hot Gates. "You're sure this is the only pass through the mountains?"

"The only substantial one yes," Leonidas nodded.

Callisto shot Ithius a wary glance.

"The only substantial one?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"There may be others," Leonidas admitted. "Small cattle trails and the like leading through the hills, used by local farmers and such."

Callisto leaned forward, her tone suddenly deadly serious.

"Leonidas, your plan only works if you can keep the Persians off your flanks. If other passes through those mountains exist, and if they find them, you'll be surrounded." She leaned back away from the table and regarded him steadily. "Your chances of survival then drop from slim to less than none. Ever crushed a walnut with a war hammer? I believe the phrase used is overkill."

"There are always risks in any plan," Leonidas replied, and turned to Ithius. "We need only hold the pass for as long as it takes for the Persians to lose the will to fight. At Marathon they had no stomach for a prolonged battle. They pulled back when the reinforcements arrived because it was more fight than they were used to. This will happen again! I'm sure of it."

Ithius nodded.

"You're probably right," he said, but the worried expression never left his face.

"I have one more problem with your plan," Callisto said.

Leonidas looked at her questioningly.

"The line you draw in the sand there is going to have to hold, and hold firm," Callisto said.

"Your point being?" Leonidas said.

Callisto glanced over her shoulder toward the drilling Spartans.

"Spartan close formation fighting is legendary," she said. "but none of your allies will be as rigorously drilled in it as you. That puts you and your men at the center of the front line. A bulwark against the Persian flood, am I right?"

Leonidas nodded.

"Then your going to be in the thick of the fighting for the longest time," Callisto continued, "and you'll have to hold together. Your three hundred can't so much as falter, not even once. Do you really think they can do that for days at a time."

Leonidas smiled at her toothily.

"Callisto, we're Spartans. Holding together is what we were trained for from the very day we were born. It's..." he struggled to find the words, "...it's just what we do. My men will not fail. Not when their homeland and countrymen are at stake."

Callisto rolled her eyes.

"You Spartans do love to chest pound don't you?" she said. "All so rugged and masculine. What if I was to tell you that I could break your little formation over there. Just me. On my own."

"I'd say show us," Ithius said, leaning forward challengingly and with a spark of interest behind his eyes. Leonidas nodded in agreement.

"Agreed," he said. "We still have not seen the renowned Callisto in action. It will be interesting to see how the only person in Greece, beyond Hercules himself, to go toe to toe with Xena and prevail handles herself in battle."

Callisto grinned wickedly.

"Then get ready for a show," she said and clambered to her feet. "I really am quite something."

She began to walk toward the formation when she heard Leonidas call out behind her.

"SPARTANS! FORM UP AND ON MY INSTRUCTION, ATTACK!"

The Spartan line immediately span to face her, shields snapping into place, with over a dozen spears pointing through the crescent spaces in the shield sides, all tracing lines directly toward her. She drew her sword, her smile widening as she felt the adrenaline beginning to race inside her. This might actually be fun.

"ADVANCE!" she heard Leonidas shout. The Spartans moved in seemingly perfect lock step, their shields forming an almost impenetrable wall of bronze, their spears held rigid, straight and razor's edge sharp.

"Here we go then," Callisto muttered to herself, and then, with a fierce banshee shriek, she flung herself forward.

The Spartans reacted immediately. The front line braced hard behind their shields as she dove at them, their spear tips raising slightly to track with her. She angled first for the biggest Spartan on the line, a brute of a man who had to crouch slightly to keep behind his shield in the same manner as the others.

The Spartans saw the attack coming, and the big man locked his shield tightly, while his neighbour, a smaller man in the line, hefted his own weapon ready to strike at her from the side as she assaulted his larger compatriot. It was exactly what she had been expecting. The smaller man, she had noted earlier, was a fraction of a second slower than his fellows, making him the line's clearest weak spot. To most it would have been a negligible fault, a tiny chink in otherwise all encompassing armour. To her, it was a gap large enough to drive a wagon through.

As the smaller man thrust with his spear, his shield shifted slightly, and before he could react to close the gap, Callisto had adjusted to aim straight for it. She easily weaved around the spear strike and stepped inside the man's guard, her sword thrusting through the gap in the shields, but being equally careful not to impale the man on the end of it. He was one of Leonidas' men after all.

"There's the crack," she giggled to herself. "Now to drive in the wedge!"

Unable to bring his shield in to close the gap with her sword blocking the way, and with a clumsy spear, unsuitable for such close in fighting, getting in his way, the man took the only course of action available to him. He dropped the spear and pulled his shield aside in an attempt to draw the sword fastened to his hip. It was all the invitation Callisto needed. She yanked her sword free and aimed a powerful snap kick into the man's midriff, driving the wind out of him, before spinning back to plant another kick into the ribs of the big man who she had originally been aiming for and whose side was now exposed. Spartans from the rear rank began to move up to fill the open space, but it was already too late, and Callisto was through the gap she had opened, laughing mockingly as she struck left and right with the flat of her sword, the wedge well and truly driven home.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" She heard Leonidas shout. Around her, the Spartans immediately dropped their weapons and fell to one knee. Callisto glanced about herself. She was the only one remaining standing.

She turned to face Leonidas who was striding purposefully toward her, Ithius only a few paces behind him. He drew up a couple of paces from her, his eyes appraising her in a completely new light. For a moment Callisto thought he would become angry at her. Men tended to do that when you broke their toys. Instead though, he smiled broadly.

"So what do you think Ithius," he called back over his shoulder. "Quite the spectacle when she goes to work isn't she."

"She has talent," Ithius nodded in agreement, but something about his tone suggested he was unimpressed, "but no discipline."

"You think you can take me?" Callisto spat back, grinning devilishly as she did so.

Ithius answering smile was cold and superior.

"I know I can," he said.

Something about his smile irked her and she felt the anger that had been bubbling quietly in the pit of her stomach suddenly spark to life, catching and holding until it burned fiercely. She lifted one of her long, tapered fingers and hooked it toward herself.

"Care to see if you're self confidence is really warranted then?" she said, tilting her head and pursing her lips tightly.

Ithius' smile broadened but never touched his eyes. He span on his heel and went to retrieve his sword from the nearby table. As he did so, Leonidas moved to stand beside her.

"Good luck," he said, his voice genuine.

Callisto snorted.

"Luck!?" she sneered, "He's a Helot, a farmer. How could he even hope to beat me?"

Leonidas gave her an amused look.

"It's almost a shame to spoil the surprise you're going to get, but Ithius was my personal attendant since before I could even walk," he said. "When I was a child and began training in spear, shield and sword, my father dictated that he be trained too. He wanted an opponent for me that would be my equal in skill and who would not shrink from doing his best to end me, which Ithius was ordered to do every time we sparred, incidentally. He showed a remarkable aptitude for the martial skills we practice, and over the years experience has honed him even sharper. He's been at my side through more wars than I can count, and there is no finer swordsman in all of Sparta."

"But not all of Greece," Callisto replied smugly.

"Perhaps," Leonidas nodded. "But it looks like now we'll get to find out exactly where it is _you_ rank."

Callisto scowled at him in annoyance. Did he honestly think she was about to let some jumped up former slave show her up after she had just taken apart a Spartan Phalanx? Ithius stepped up a couple of strides away from her, his sword held in the ready position, the blade shining brightly as the sun overhead pushed on toward midday.

Callisto lifted her own sword in return.

"You going to go easy on me?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not at all," Ithius replied.

"Good," Callisto said, her grin turning to a snarl. "I wouldn't have it any other way!"

With that she flung herself forward, screaming loudly as her sword flashed in front of her in wicked cross cut. She had expected resistance, a parry of some kind, anything other than what actually happened

Her sword met nothing but air.

Ithius had already taken a step back to stand just out of reach. Her next two strikes were met similarly, as he twisted and turned to avoid them, always moving just beyond her blade's tip. They broke apart suddenly, Callisto's chest already heaving from her exertions.

"Not good enough." Ithius said, shaking his head. "Again. Try harder."

Callisto bellowed frustratedly and leaped at him, redoubling her efforts as the blade of her sword swung quickly from cross cuts, to downward strikes, to whirling backhanders, and even savage thrusts aiming to pierce Ithius' heart.

Still each strike met nothing but air, as the former Helot ducked and weaved around her. She could feel her frustration giving way to the boiling anger inside her, and as her ire grew, so did the lethality of her strikes. She was not pulling blows any more. Every thrust and swing carried her full strength behind it, each with the intention of ending Ithius' life. A particularly vicious strike aimed for his face whistled by only millimeters from the bridge of his nose and he danced back quickly, his feet kicking up clouds of sand as the distance between them increased. Callisto could feel her chest heaving raggedly with every breath.

"You're starting to look tired," Ithius said matter-of-factly. "Would you like to take a breather? Come back to it when you're more refreshed?"

Callisto said nothing. Her lip curled up in a sneer and she moved in on him again. This time she went low in an effort to hamstring him and keep him from dancing around her. Again, the result was the same and she felt a furious scream building in her throat. She knew she was fast. In fact she prided herself on it, but Ithius' speed was almost inhuman, and his patience seemingly infinite. Her faints did not draw him in, but every time she swung he seemed to be somewhere else. It was the silence with which he did it that fueled her anger most though. Others would have taunted her, or yelled or... or... something... anything... Instead, Ithius said nothing. There was nothing for her to spark off of, nothing to channel her rage into, and it infuriated her.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, her sword met his with a powerful crash that sent a shower of sparks skittering across the sand at their feet. Callisto grunted. She wanted to believe she had finally worn him down, but she knew it was not true. Their swords had met because he had wanted them to. She tried to step back, to give herself space, but Ithius moved with her, his sword grinding against hers, the screech of steel on steel filling the air.

"Come on Callisto," he said, his face mere inches from hers. "This isn't good enough. Not to beat me, not to help Leonidas stop the Persians, and certainly not enough to stop the anger inside you."

Suddenly he stepped back, his blade falling back with him and Callisto over balanced.

"Still not good enough! Again!" she heard him shout at her. "Try Again!"

She used the forward stumble to carry her blade through in a vicious upper cut, and Ithius barely sidestepped in time, his feet skidding in the sand, his own balance momentarily lost. It was the first real opening she had had the entire duel and she exploited it savagely. Twisting on her heel, she brought her sword down hard, Ithius' own blade coming up in a nick-of-time parry that caused the weapons to meet with a fierce ringing that jarred both of them to their bones and drove Ithius down to one knee. Callisto followed it with a second strike, then a third and fourth, her sword smashing down onto his with greater and greater ferocity as her pent up fury finally found something to unleash itself on.

With each strike, Ithius was driven a little further down until, in desperation, his leg lashed out in a wide sweep. It was an obvious move and Callisto hopped over it easily, but it provided Ithius the moment's respite he needed. When her fifth strike came hammering down, he twisted on his knee in an awkward but effective spin that carried him clear of her sword. Unable to arrest her attack's follow through, Callisto felt her sword slice into the sand at her feet, as next to her Ithius surged to his own in a spin that would bring his blade around and into the back of her neck. She felt the sweet kiss of cold steel on her skin, and for the briefest moment, she thought this might actually be how she was going to die. Ithius proved to have more control than she would have had in the same circumstances though, and he simply held the sword poised on the back of her neck.

"Why couldn't you do it?" he asked. "Why couldn't you beat me?" His breathing was a little rough and ragged, but from the tone of his voice, Callisto guessed it was a question intended for her to ponder. He sounded like he already knew the answer.

"You..." Callisto panted, stepping out from beneath his sword, and straightening "...you move too fast."

She turned to glare at him angrily.

"I couldn't keep up..." she said, still breathing heavily. "...Every time... I went on the offensive you were... somewhere else. Every thrust... every swing... nothing."

Ithius shook his head.

"That's not the reason," he said. "And you know it too. It's just another lie you tell yourself, another deception so you won't have to face up to the truth."

Callisto glanced around at the others watching them. Leonidas had an expression of interest on his face, and even Monocles had looked up from his work to watch them.

"And what truth would that be?" she sneered, her temper still flaring hotly inside her as she felt the eyes all around focused on her.

"The truth that it wasn't me who defeated you today," he said "You're better than me, faster than me, so why couldn't you beat me, or even hit me for that matter?"

Callisto was about to snap off an exasperated reply that she had been doing a pretty good job of it toward the end, when she was distracted by the sounds of angry voices from outside the courtyard. Nearby, Leonidas nodded to Sentos who promptly turned and set off toward the source of the disturbance, a pair of soldiers falling in to either side of him. They had barely gone two steps though, when the doors to the courtyard slammed open furiously, and Demosthenes strode in at the head of what Callisto could only assume to be a small army. Flanking him to either side were a number of Spartan soldiers all in blue cloaks with a single clasp marked by Demosthenes' charging bull symbol. Clearly a personal retinue of some kind.

Behind them came the Ephors, with Nestus close on Demosthenes' heels as he moved along at a brisk and angry clip. In their wake came the Persians. They numbered all of the Persian party that had accompanied Hutâna the day before, with one notable exception; Hutâna himself.

She shifted her balance slightly and tightened her grip on her sword. Something told her that what was about to come would be less than pleasant.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Leonidas demanded furiously, stepping clear of his men to confront the newcomers as he did so.

"Step aside Leonidas," Demosthenes said, looking past Leonidas and straight at Callisto.

"Like Tartarus I will!" Leonidas snapped, and rounded on Nestus. "I am not only a private citizen of Sparta, but a King of the Agiad line! Your intrusion here is trespassing. This palace is my property, and I demand to know the reason for your coming here unannounced."

"My apologies Leonidas," Nestus said, "Normally I would have requested an audience with you, as is befitting, but the circumstances are somewhat urgent..."

"Enough of this farce!" Shouted the Persian captain Callisto remembered from the night before. He pointed furiously at her, his eyes blazing with hatred. "Hand over the woman Spartan, or my men and I will take her by force!"

Demosthenes rounded on him at that.

"Watch yourself Persian," he snapped. "You are speaking to a King of Sparta and will show him the respect her deserves. We are here to apprehend her according to Spartan law. When or if we even find her guilty of the crime which you accuse her of, she will be surrendered to you, and not before. That was the agreement we made, and we intend to honour it, as should you."

Leonidas glanced at Callisto, confusion writ large across his face.

"What did you do?" she heard Ithius whisper behind her, his tone practically a mirror of Leonidas' expression.

"That's what I'd like to know," she replied.

In front of her, Leonidas straightened, lifting his chin imperiously as he prepared to speak.

"Callisto is my guest and as such is under my protection while she remains within Sparta's walls," he announced, his voice suddenly changing from the more casual and familiar tones he had used earlier, to more regal and commanding ones. "I demand to know what crime she is being charged with that would lead to you feeling the need to come banging down my door, with over a dozen armed men in tow I might add!"

Nestus gave Leonidas a long searching look, as if trying to decide whether the king was simply feigning ignorance, or if he honestly did not know what had happened. Being that Callisto herself had no idea what was going on, she imagined it was the latter.

"Leonidas," Demosthenes said softly, "we've come to arrest her on suspicion of murder."

"She has been my guest here all night," Leonidas responded. "Who is she supposed to have murdered?"

Callisto was pretty sure she could guess.

"Persian Ambassador Hutâna," Demosthenes said.

Callisto nodded to herself.

"Thought so," she muttered.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It hasn't been that long since my last update, but I made it over the early hump with this story and things are moving ahead now. I apologise for the length of this part, but this chapter proved to be an absolute beast, what with so much stuff to get through. Still one of the big reveals is now out of the way, which is a relief as I can start to name the character now. It makes the prose a little less purple. Anyway, hope you all enjoy it, and I 'll try my best to be back with another update soon.

EDIT: Some minor edits made, particularly to the dialogue in the last fight between Ithius and Callisto.


	10. Chapter Nine: Trust Issues

**Chapter Nine: Trust Issues**

"Is what they are saying true?"

Leonidas rounded on Callisto, his expression akin to having just been slapped. She could hardly blame him she supposed. The news of Hutâna's murder was as much of a surprise to her as it no doubt was to him, and even she had to admit she could see the reasoning behind it. After all, she could hardly be said to have been friendly to the man. Still, it did not make Leonidas' sudden suspicion of her sting any less.

"You actually believe them?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him in disbelief, trying desperately to hold on to her temper.

"Is it true?" Leonidas pushed, taking a step toward her. "I saw you with Hutâna last night. There was certainly no love lost between the two of you, and what with your reputation..."

"Oh, I get it," she said, nodding as if suddenly understanding for the first time. "Someone gets murdered and your first instinct is to blame the mass murdering psycho in your midst."

She paused and cocked her head.

"Actually, that's probably a good instinct," she admitted.

Leonidas' jaw clenched tightly at that, his teeth obviously grinding against one another in frustration.

"Enough jokes!" He snapped, his voice suddenly hard as iron. "I brought you into this city, made you an honoured guest of my house, vouched for you in front of a council of my peers, and now you won't even answer a simple question!? I trusted you to help us!"

"You didn't trust me!" Callisto hissed back at him, their conversation on the hill outside the city still vivid in her memory. "You heard a woolly oracular prophecy from some drugged up old hag half way up a mountain, and thought that that made me the answer to all your problems! I've got news for you Leonidas. You don't ally with someone like me if you have a choice. I'm not a problem solver! In fact, I have a remarkable capacity for causing them!"

"Is it true then!?" Leonidas said, his expression suddenly wounded. "Did you kill Hutâna?"

"NO!" Callisto snapped, the tenuous grip she had on her temper failing her in an instant of heated anger. "I didn't kill him! I didn't kill anyone!"

Leonidas continued to stare at her, a confused look on his face, as if her were trying to decide whether or not she was really telling the truth. From all around, she could feel more pairs of eyes focusing on her, each asking the same question. Had she killed Hutâna? The answer was obviously no, but that led to the question of who actually had? Who would stand to gain the most from his death? Killing Xerxes' own ambassador was the most sure fire way to begin a war she could think of certainly, but, as far as she could tell, of everyone here, no one seemed to have a vested interest in actually going to war. Leonidas' plans had felt like more of a contingency effort should all else fail, Demosthenes seemed concerned about the Persian threat, but indecisive, and the Ephors actively opposed the war. Could it have been one of Hutâna's own men then? Internal politics could explain it, but that explanation did not sit entirely right with her either. The Persian's would have a swifter and easier conquest of Greece if they did not have to divert their attention to subduing Sparta. A war did not ultimately serve their ends, any more than it did the Spartans. Who was behind it all then? Thoughts of Pelion and his Followers swam through her mind, along with memories of her deal with Zeus and Hades, and the supposed Oracular prophecy Leonidas had spoken of. What angle were they pursuing here? Their worship of Cronus, and the problems she knew of in Tartarus could not be simple coincidence either. It all had to tie together somehow, she was sure of it. The only problem was, she was not sure how.

"She lies!" she heard the Persian captain hiss nearby. "You all saw her threaten Ambassador Hutâna last night! He came to her with a gracious offer of peace, and she spat it back in his face like the rabid animal she is!"

"You stay out of this!" Leonidas said, rounding on the captain suddenly. "You are in my house now, not some city council chamber, and here you will afford me the same courtesy I have so far shown you! This is our city! If Callisto has killed here, she will face our justice, not yours."

"Ambassador Hutâna was no Spartan..." the captain began to retort.

"More's the pity," she heard Ithius mutter to himself nearby. The Persian captain shot him an icy glare but continued on regardless.

"...He was a trusted advisor to the God King Xerxes himself!" he blustered. "We demand that she be delivered to us! If she is not, the Great King Xerxes will see to it that you all suffer in her place!"

Once again, Ithius moved like lightning, suddenly stepping up close to the Persian captain and leaning in until his face was mere inches from the Persian's own.

"Are you attempting to threaten us?" he said, his voice low but steady.

"I simply state facts, slave," The Persian said, apparently unimpressed as his face lit up with a cocksure grin. "Xerxes does not offer his hand in friendship lightly. To have it batted aside with so little regard will be the utmost insult to him, and those who have done such things in the past have seldom lived long enough to regret it."

"I warned you yesterday Persian," Ithius said, his tone flat and unchanging, but his eyes blazing fiercely as he began to reach for his sword. "I am no slave..."

"Gentlemen, please!"

It was Nestus, suddenly stepping in close to both Ithius and the Persian captain. He placed a conciliatory hand on each man's shoulder as he did so arresting the sudden tension in the manner of a skilled negotiator.

"We are not here to fight each other, only to see that justice is had..." he glanced pointedly at Leonidas, "...by all," he finished.

He shifted his gaze from Leonidas to Callisto.

"She must be brought with us Leonidas," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "A murder _was_ done last night, and the Persians are the wronged party here, with ample cause for suspicion. There are questions that must be asked of her, at the very least."

The courtyard fell silent, as Leonidas turned to regard her.

There was something behind those eyes now, something that reminded her of her father and the way he had looked at her when he had caught her stealing apples from old man Bunyus' market stall. It had not been a look of anger, or even annoyance. Instead, he just had a look of bitter disappointment. At the time, that look had cut the young Callisto to the bone. She was surprised to feel Leonidas' look doing the same thing now. She could feel something, something she had never really felt before. What was it? Shame? Embarassment? She did not even know. She just knew she did not like it, and her anger flared hotly to counter it.

She placed her hands on her hips, and glared back at Leonidas.

"I didn't do it," she said defiantly.

Leonidas watched her with that same hurt expression for a moment or so longer, before turning away and nodding toward Demosthenes.

Callisto felt her throat go dry and she swallowed. Was he really giving her up to them? She was still trying to process her shock at what had just happened when Demosthenes motioned to several of his own Spartans, who quickly fell in beside him as they moved to surround her. At a gesture from their leader, two of the Spartans moved to either side of her, seizing her arms between rough calloused hands. As they did so, she twisted and hissed angrily at them, but they continued to hold her firm.

"So this is how you treat your guests?" she snarled, spitting angrily at one of the Spartans who held her. "I'd hate to see what you do to your enemies!"

"Now, please Callisto, don't make this any harder than it needs to be," Demosthenes said apologetically as he advanced on her. "We only wish to ask you questions, to determine what, if any, role you may have had in Hutâna's death."

She struggled even harder, twisting this way and that in a vain effort to get free. She could not let this happen! There was something rotten going on beneath all this surface politicking and posturing, and locked up in a cell she would never find the truth behind any of it.

"And if you don't like my answers?" she sneered, shooting Leonidas an angry look from across Demosthenes' shoulder.

"Then I will personally see to it that you are brought before the God King, so that he may scatter your entrails to every corner of Greece as a warning to those who would make an enemy of his divine might!" The Persian captain interjected smartly.

Callisto gave a deeply sarcastic laugh.

"Wow..." she began, "...you really do make such a lovely invitation, but you know what?" Her lip curled upward in a nasty grin as a plan suddenly came to her. "I think I'll pass,"

Suddenly, and without warning she vaulted backwards, her arms twisting in the grips of the unsuspecting Spartans. Her feet flashed up, planting themselves firmly against Demosthenes' stomach, then, pushing her weight back against the men holding her as a counterbalance, she proceeded to run up him, each footstep a vicious kick until she reached his shoulders. With a terrible shriek of anger, she pushed hard off Demosthenes with her left leg; her trailing right leg following through to catch him under the chin with resounding crack that sent him sailing backward and onto the sandy ground beneath them. The grips of the Spartans to either side of her failed as she turned the vault into a backward somersault, and then suddenly she was free, tumbling through the air to land with all the poise of a hunting panther.

"Stop her!" she heard the Persian captain cry, and immediately her sword was in her hand as two of the Persian's advanced on her, their heavy scimitars glistening sharply. They managed to strike first, and Callisto was only just able to bring her sword up in time. The sheer weight of their blades striking against her desperate parries shook her to her very bones, but as she settled into the cadence of the fight, the strikes became easier to defend against, her blade sweeping quickly from attack to defence and back again.

She began thinking about her next move. The Spartans were already moving toward her, and she knew that, with the numbers they had arrayed against her, time was not on her side. She had to move and move quickly, but where to? Even if she escaped the palace, she would still be alone and without allies in the heart of a suddenly hostile city.

She tried to slow her racing thoughts. She needed to take things one step at a time. That was what she had always tried to tell herself, but it had proved to be something she was remarkably bad at doing. First she needed to get clear of the palace, then she could start to think about what came next, such as how to escape the city itself.

A fresh Persian sword strike met another of her parries, jarring her teeth, as it hit home with all the subtlety and finesse of a charging cyclops. Without pausing, she quickly sidestepped the second Persian's follow up, an over balanced downward hack, and pivoted on her heel, her free leg sweeping round in a powerful roundhouse kick that sent the first Persian flying. The second Persian's follow through from his hard downward blow had left him doubled over, and suddenly open to a counter sword thrust to the ribs. Callisto was about to move in and finish him, when a sudden warning feeling in the back of her mind stopped her. Sure, killing the Persians might make sense from the self preservation side of things, it would probably even make her feel better, but she also had the distinct feeling it would do her comparatively little good when the time came to try and convince Leonidas of her innocence. That thought gave her a moment's pause. Why did she even care whether or not Leonidas considered her innocent?

Doing her best to push the distractions from her mind, she stepped in close to the doubled up Persian and drove her knee up into his face, sending him sprawling on his back and into unconsciousness. Behind her she heard the clatter of shields and spears moving to surround her and cursed softly.

Her time had run out.

Without thinking, she turned and ran, sprinting for the stairs that led to the second floor and the room she had woken up in. She hit the steps at speed, all but flying up them two at a time, and skidding to a stop at the top as her mind raced desperately. She needed a way out of the palace, but how?

Somewhere close by she heard a dog howl and a grin lit up her face. Behind her, the sounds of the Spartan soldiers in pursuit filled the air, their armour clattering loudly as they mounted the stairs. Callisto did not wait a moment longer. She took off at a sprint, casting a sideways glance down into the courtyard at the assembled figures of Leonidas and the others still watching her. She grinned and tossed them a jaunty wave before angling back down the corridor toward her bedchamber. She was almost beginning to enjoy this!

As she dashed inside, she mule kicked the door closed behind her and grabbed the bronze bowl filled with scented water she had used earlier, before yanking down one of the white linen drapes from above the window and tying a hurried slipknot in it. She just hoped she remembered the distances from the window correctly.

Suddenly, the door flew open with a splintering crunch as the Spartans battered their way through it. Callisto wasted no more time as the first of the Spartans came through the door. Remembering all the times she had delighted in taunting Xena with her skill, she curled her arm back, her fingers wrapping tightly around the edge of the bowl, before suddenly whipping her arm forward to hurl it, chakram like, across the chamber. The first Spartan choked painfully as the bowl's hard bronze edge caught him across the windpipe, causing him to stumble off balance toward Callisto.

Without hesitation, she whirled the knotted white linen rope she had made above her head and let fly, feeling a tinge of satisfaction as the knotted loop dropped neatly over the Spartan's shoulders, and then, with a well timed tug from her, tightened around his waist. Quickly, so as not give the Spartans time to react, she turned and sprang onto the window ledge, crouching with her knees wide and fingers splayed for an instant, before turning to flash the Spartans a pitying grin as the last of them finally made it through the door.

"And you were doing so well too..." she smiled, then, still clutching tightly to the drape wrapped around the first Spartan's waist, she straightened up to her full height and dropped backward out of the window. The wind whistled loudly in her ears and her hair whipped desperately in front of her face as she dropped in complete free fall. From above she heard a pained gasp as the Spartan at the other end of her makeshift rope was yanked toward the window, only managing to stop himself from being pulled out after her by bracing his arms and feet stiffly against the window frame.

Callisto felt the limp drape between her fingers pull taught to an accompanying pained gasp from above as the Spartan was suddenly forced to take her weight, and then she was no longer free falling but instead swinging in toward the palace wall. She lifted her legs, and bent her knees as the stone rushed up to meet her, then for a moment she remained still, hanging against the wall, the drape still clutched tightly between her fingers.

Somewhere above, she heard her little Spartan anchor give a loud grunt as he strained desperately with all his strength to keep from being pulled out of the window. She looked back over her shoulder and there, sure enough only a few feet below and slightly aside of her was the top of the palace's outer defensive wall.

"Hey up there!" She shouted snarkily back up the drape. "I'd be much obliged if you could hold on for just a few more seconds!"

Her only reply was an answering groan of frustration from the Spartan. She giggled to herself and bent her knees, then, with a powerful shove, she sprang backward away from the palace wall and out over the defensive wall beneath her, the sound of the drape tearing under the strain filling her ears. At the apex of her outward swing, she released her grip on the improvised rope, and dropped, landing cat-like on the outer wall of the Palace. The evenly cobbled streets of the Inner City stared back at her, open and inviting. She grinned delightedly and cast a backward glance over her shoulder where the pursuing Spartans were now all clustered around the window, their jaws hanging open in amazement.

With a taunting laugh, she blew them a kiss then vaulted down from the outer wall, landing spryly in the street, and sprinting off into the city beyond.

* * *

The assembled crowd in the courtyard stood quietly as the Spartans that had pursued Callisto returned empty handed, one of them even massaging a livid purple bruise across his throat. The Persian captain rounded on Leonidas, a dark fury shining behind his eyes.

"You let her get away!" he snapped accusingly.

"I assure you, I did no such thing," Leonidas replied, slightly less sharply, but with no less venom. He was hardly surprised at her escape really. Her taking apart of his phalanx had been like nothing he had ever seen before. Bringing her back in would prove no easy task, even for a force as skilled at arms as the Spartans were.

"Maybe if you had held your temper and not come in here throwing around wild accusations, she may have felt less inclined to run," he continued, doing his best to keep his voice even, although truthfully, he could already feel the overwhelming urge to take up a spear and thrust it straight into the captain's temple. The mental image it conjured was most satisfying.

"You dare to accuse me of wrong doing!" the captain said, incredulous. "We are the victims here! We came to you open handed, offering peace, friendship and..."

"...Surrender?" Leonidas retorted. He shot a glance toward Ithius. "Slavery even?"

A low smile spread across the Persian's face.

"Whatever works," he said.

"ENOUGH!" Demosthenes' voice echoed across the courtyard with force of a hammer to an anvil. Using his size, he quickly stepped between the two arguing men, shooting sideways glances to both of them as he rubbed at the spot on his jaw where Callisto had kicked him.

"These recriminations are pointless," he said, his voice now steadier and more controlled but remaining as hard as cold steel. "We came here to take Callisto into custody. Now she has escaped, and so we have no more reason to intrude upon King Leonidas' time or hospitality."

The Persian captain shook his head at that.

"We are not finished yet," he said. "There is still much to be discussed, such as your response to our offer..."

"...which will still be discussed in due course," Demosthenes replied, talking loudly over the Persian.

"Indeed," said Nestus, stepping in to smooth over the increasing hostility that could be felt upon the air like the sense of impending rain. "Now is hardly the time to talk about such crucial issues. We had agreed to reconvene the council today for further debate, and we shall hold to that plan. I trust that that is satisfactory to you?"

The Persian stood in silence for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Barely," he said, "but under the circumstances I am prepared to be magnanimous. We shall attend your council then, but I plan to depart this city before nightfall. Great King Xerxes must be informed of what has taken place here. It may be that he chooses to rescind his most gracious of offers."

"Let us hope that that does not prove so," said Nestus, giving a deep and respectful bow. The Persian captain regarded him disdainfully for a moment before turning and motioning to the rest of the party to follow him. They stalked out past the watching Spartans, their heads held so high it was a wonder to Leonidas that they did not strain their backs.

Slowly, Nestus straightened and turned to glare at Leonidas.

"Just what in all of Tartarus do you think you're playing at!?" he snapped. "First you bring that woman into our city, then you let her antagonise an army so large it could defeat the combined forces of almost every city in Greece. And then, the crowning turd in the watering hole, you let her, a known murderer and warmonger, have free rein so that she can kill an important foreign dignitary!?"

"We do not know she actually killed him," Ithius said from nearby. He had been silent since he had threatened the Persian captain. "It could have very well been someone else."

"Like who?" Demosthenes said.

"I was the one who put a sword to his throat last night," Ithius replied. "Did you ever consider that I might have done it?"

He paused as all eyes suddenly focused on him.

"I didn't though," he added quickly.

"We know," Demosthenes said. "You were seen departing the Inner City last night in that wagon of yours. What with the Helot gathering outside the gates, it was considered safest to close and bar them last night. There was no way you could've gotten back inside."

"And don't think that that little security measure didn't go unnoticed," Ithius said. "My people were less than impressed at such treatment."

Demosthenes waved his hand dismissively.

"Your people will have to learn to live with it," he said. "We are the masters of this city and we do not answer to you."

"For now at least," Ithius said with a glance toward Leonidas that caused both Nestus and Demosthenes to narrow their eyes when they saw it.

"Either way," Nestus began, still watching the pair of them, "we have a council meeting to prepare for. It's time we were about our business."

Like the Persians before him, he turned and began to leave, the rest of the Ephors following close behind. Demosthenes turned to follow but shot one last look back over his shoulder toward them both.

"Be careful Leonidas," he said. "After yesterday, you are standing on shifting sands. You should have a care that they do not bury you."

With that, he turned and followed Nestus out of the palace, his soldiers trailing in his wake.

Left in the courtyard, surrounded only by Ithius and his men, he finally let the mask of calm he had been holding onto crack, and reached out to seize a spear from one of his men. The man relinquished his weapon to his King without so much as a flinch, and with terrific bellow of fury, Leonidas pivoted on his heel, hurling the spear with all his might so that it flew straight and true to imbed itself clean through the chest of nearby straw-filled training dummy.

How could he have been so foolish!? How could he have trusted Callisto, even for the barest moment, let alone the day or so he had actually known her. The woman was, as Nestus had said, a murderer and a warmonger, leaving a trail of chaos and bloodshed wherever she went. Why had he thought she would prove to be any different here?

It had been the prophecy obviously. He had never taken much stock in Oracles or their vague foretellings before, preferring instead to trust in his own guile and skills to see him through his life, but that day at the temple of Ares had been different. He had gone there out of desperation, seeking the same wisdom that the old stories claimed so many other great Spartans had found there, through their communion with the war god's own Oracle, and therefore by extension, the God of War himself.

What Miranda had told him had planted a seed in the back of his mind; that a woman, Callisto, would come to their city, and that on her shoulders would rest the fate of all of Greece, had sounded unbelievable at first, but the seed had been planted nevertheless. Then he had remembered who Callisto was and the many tall and incredible tales he had heard of her and her exploits. They were all grim and terrible of course, but still incredible, and that seed the Oracle had planted had taken root. It was encountering her on the road that had finally made it bloom though, the seemingly by chance meeting had been far too perfectly orchestrated to be pure coincidence.

But now she had proved those words false. Instead of delivering them from a war, she had set them teetering on the very brink, then fled, leaving him alone to topple into the abyss.

Ithius coughed politely behind him and Leonidas glanced back over his shoulder.

"You have something to say?" he said.

"Only what a fine mess you've managed to make of things," Ithius replied, his face perfectly steady. He had always been that way. A rock in stormy seas and the perfect counterpoint to Leonidas' occasionally more flamboyant manner. It was perhaps why his father had chosen Ithius as Leonidas' personal retainer and sparring partner.

"Really?" Leonidas replied sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed."

Ithius only shrugged.

"Maybe you were too busy concentrating on something else," he said, his tone one of perfect reason, but Leonidas already knew where he was heading with this.

"A certain woman you mean?" he said.

Ithius nodded.

"Blonde hair, wicked smile, prickly as a porcupine when threatened…"

Leonidas gave a long frustrated sigh.

"She really has managed to get under my skin hasn't she?" he said.

"I think she's managed to get under _everyone's_ skin," Ithius replied, stopping to look Leonidas in the eye. "I'll admit she does make quite the impression. Everyone seems to have almost forgotten about the Persians, what with her around. Even the crowd of my people outside your gates are talking about her, and they only saw her passing through."

"I'm not pining after her, if that's what you think," Leonidas said.

Ithius shook his head in response to that.

"I never said you were," he said. "I actually think it would be insane to even try anything like that with her. She'd probably make you eat your own kneecaps first."

Leonidas tried to suppress the sudden mental image he was getting. It was somewhat less than pleasant.

"All I am saying," Ithius continued, "is that she's got you distracted. She's too unpredictable. You're spending all of your time wondering about her, which way she's going to bend or break next, and not enough keeping an eye on the unfolding situation around you. You can't go into this council meeting angry though. Remember what your father always used to tell us when we were sparring?"

Leonidas nodded, remembering all too well.

"Nothing external to you has any power over you," he said. Ithius nodded and smiled.

"The best fighter is never angry," he replied, another of Leonidas' father's mantras.

"All that's easier said than done when dealing with Callisto."

Ithius gave him a questioning look.

"Why _did_ you bring her here?" he asked.

Leonidas' shoulders slumped as he tried to think of an answer.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I think it's just that, for the first time, it suddenly felt like there was someone there who would have my back... who I could trust... I can't explain why."

"You couldn't have trusted me?" Ithius said.

Leonidas turned and looked at him steadily.

"I do trust you," he said. "But I also know you, and have done for years. Your first loyalty is to your people, as is mine. Our friendship means we'll help each other as much as we can, but there are limits to how far we can both ultimately go."

Ithius nodded in understanding.

"But now you think she's betrayed you?" He said.

"I don't know," Leonidas said. "Has she?"

Ithius gave him a long considering look and was opening his mouth to speak, when one of Leonidas' soldiers appeared at the entrance to the courtyard and began running toward them.

"My King!" he shouted, "My King!" His face was streaked with sweat and his chest was heaving beneath his leather armour. Leonidas imagined he had sprinted here through the city.

"Looks like something's not right," Ithius muttered next to him. Leonidas only nodded.

"Greetings soldier," he said as the soldier skidded to a halt in front of him and promptly dropped to one knee. "I'm assuming from the manner of your appearance that you have some sort of dire news for me?"

"I come from the Inner City gates," the Spartan said, breathing heavily between words and obviously still a little winded from his mad dash through the city. "It's the Helots great King."

Leonidas felt, rather than saw, Ithius stiffen at his side.

"What of them?" he asked, feeling his stomach turn. How much worse could things become?

"They have heard word of Ambassador Hutâna's murder," the soldier said, "They are fearful of the Persian's retribution and are demanding to be allowed entrance now. The City Watch are beginning to fear a riot."

Leonidas glanced sideways at Ithius, who let out a long weary sigh.

"Looks like that's my cue," he said.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been receiving a little more feedback on my stories recently, which has really helped with my motivation, and the story is coming along a lot more smoothly as result. I'd like to thank those of you have taken the time to review and comment (especially GorgoStark for your continued correspondence) on these stories of mine so far. I'm glad you are enjoying it, and I sincerely hope you will continue to do so.

CELINANA: A short message for you here as I can't e-mail or PM to you, and this site frowns on people using the review section to answer questions.

These stories should run to a total of four main parts dealing with the main story line set up in part 1 and continued here in part 2. I also have some cursory thoughts about a Part 5 epilogue story that would follow the main storyline and re-introduce Xena and Gabrielle so that we could have a bit of a face off between the three of them. The villain I was considering for this story was... you guessed it correctly... Velaska.

I have no concrete plans for that particular story though, and I may not even end up writing it. It all depends on how long it takes me to complete the first four main stories, and how burned out I am at the end of it. Callisto is a very difficult character to write, and I have struggled a lot in keeping her consistent with the show (still don't think I've got her quite right incidentally, but I don't think I'm _too_ far off). I enjoy writing her, but I may need a break after the first four are done and in the bag. I don't plan to break before then, since I simply have too many good ideas for those stories at the moment and don't want to end up forgetting them all.

Anyway, thank you for you review, and I hope you continue to enjoy the stories!


	11. Chapter Ten: Riot Act

**Chapter Ten: Riot Act**

The Spartans had been hunting her for the last hour or so. After she had escaped over Leonidas' palace's walls, it had not taken Callisto long to realise - much to her dismay - just how seriously and zealously these people guarded their city. She had spent most of the last hour ducking in and out of alleys, dodging through quiet streets and even occasionally busy ones, all in a continuing effort to avoid the patrols which seemed to be gradually closing in on her from all sides.

Their search patter had been easy to figure out, but the fact that even with this knowledge, she had been unable to evade them proved just how well trained and methodical the Spartans actually were. They had, at first, cast their net wide, splitting the Inner City into rough quarters. When the first patrol had sighted her, the others had repositioned, re-quartering a smaller area and closing in again. With each sighting, the area to search had grown narrower and narrower until they had her almost cornered. The most frustrating and disheartening part of it was, she had almost managed to make it to the city gates. At this point, she was certain they were only a few streets away, but the patrols had now managed to get a noose around her neck, and were simply waiting for the opportunity to tighten it.

At this very moment she was crouched behind a cluster of crates at the edge of a busy market place, doing her level best not to be seen. It was hardly the ideal spot to be hiding, or even trying to escape through, but under the circumstances she had little choice. On the opposite side of the square, there was an exit from the market that led out onto a long wide street that, if she remembered correctly, should curve down hill toward the city gates. Maybe if she could just keep her head down, she would be able to use the crowds of people to slip the Spartan net and make it down to the gates themselves, then beyond into Helot town.

She watched the milling mass of dark haired shoppers and stall owners going about their daily business, coiling a finger in her own bright blonde hair morosely as she did so. Who was she kidding? That plan was about as likely to succeed as an attempt to swim a shark infested ocean with a hunk of raw meat hanging around your neck. Unfortunately, at this point, it was the only plan she had.

The sound of creaking leather armour and the rattle of spears against shields filled the air. With a soft curse, she ducked back further into the shadows cast by the crates as a patrol passed by the mouth of the alleyway in which she now crouched. They did not stop to investigate. Indeed, they barely even gave the alley a second glance. It was as if they were not even really searching, but were instead just circling the market place, eyes moving about warily as they went. Callisto frowned as she realised what exactly it was that they were up to. They were not trying to find her. They already knew she was here, and that sooner or later she would have to show herself. They were simply biding their time, waiting for her to do just that.

Well, again, she did not have much of a choice. If she wanted out of the Inner City, the only way was across this square and through the market. She waited impatiently for the patrol to complete one more circuit, and as they passed by her hiding place for the second time, she stepped out into the crowd, doing her best to move with the clusters of people, in order to keep herself out of view of the guards. She was actually surprised she made it as far as she did, being half way across the market place and just passing by a butcher's stall when she heard a shout from behind her. She turned to see the patrol she had tried to avoid earlier angling toward her and elbowing their way through the crowd.

It did not take people long to realise just who it was the guards had set their sights on, and very quickly a large open circle began to spread out around Callisto, hushed murmurs rising up all around her as it did so. She gave a frustrated grunt, then turned to face the approaching Spartans, affecting her best innocent smile, that still somehow managed to show too many teeth.

"And how may I help you gentlemen today?" she said, stepping closer to the butcher's stall and motioning toward it as if she worked there. "We have the finest prime cuts available in all of Sparta, I'm sure you'll agree."

Suddenly, and without warning, she yanked her sword free from its scabbard across her back and, with a flick of her wrist, whirled it around into a ready stance.

"In fact, maybe I could carve you off a slice?" she said her innocent smile suddenly turning vicious. The Spartans paused for a moment then hefted their spears and began to spread out to surround her.

"Callisto," their commander announced. "You are wanted in connection with Persian Ambassador Hutâna's murder. Please lay down your sword and accompany us to the palace of King Demosthenes for questioning."

Callisto tilted her head slightly.

"I've no idea what you're talking about. I just work here," she said, feigning ignorance. She leaned sideways with her sword outstretched to spear a nearby chunk of meat from the butcher's stand, winking at the owner who did not even protest, his mouth simply hanging open in slack jawed amazement as he realised exactly who it was standing in front of him.

"Now, back to what I was saying before, we offer only the leanest and most succulent cuts of beef, guaranteed to make your mouth water," she smiled slyly as she lifted the sword up in front of her face to examine the dripping raw meat. "Here, why don't you have a taste?"

Suddenly, she whipped around rapidly, swinging her sword two handed as if it were a club. The thick slab of raw beef sailed from the tip of the blade and struck the lead Spartan wetly across the face, sending him staggering backward in surprise. In the moment's distraction it caused, Callisto span on her heel and ran, barging through the crowd surrounding her as the Spartans gave chase.

"Out of the way or I run you through!" she yelled, and angled right off the main thoroughfare until she was sprinting between a number of smaller stalls selling assorted odds and ends.

"I told you all to move!" She cried as she vaulted straight through a stall that stocked various pottery items, scattering them left and right to the accompanying distinctive crash of shattering earthenware as she went. Behind her the Spartans were already in hot pursuit, creating an even bigger trail of chaos as they shoved, threatened and manhandled their way through the crowd.

She emerged from the stalls and back onto a large pathway that weaved its way through the market and toward the main road that led to the Inner City gates. She could already see a number of soldiers that had moved to close off the exit though, and with the men following close behind her as well, the numbers game was beginning to tilt wildly against her. There was no way she could make it to the gates now. More soldiers would doubtless be on their way, and she expected that the gates themselves would be on alert and waiting for her.

She ducked left, scanning desperately for another means of escape, and just as she did so, a spear whistled past, embedding itself in the post of a market stall awning just ahead of her. Callisto grinned as a plan suddenly flashed bright and clear in her mind's eye. She glanced back over her shoulder to catch sight of a Spartan with a frustrated look on his face, clearly angry he had missed his target.

Callisto threw him a jaunty salute, and smiled even wider as the look of frustration turned to one of outright fury. Without pause, she span back and jumped up toward the spear. Her long fingers snared it with a smooth, practiced ease, and she gripped tightly as she swung hard, using her momentum to launch herself up and through the air onto the top of the next market stall in the row. She was about to turn and laugh at the pursuing Spartans, but thought better of it when a second spear whistled just over head.

She took off at a hard sprint, leaping from the roof of one stall to the next as she went, balancing precariously on the wooden frameworks that supported the awnings while the Spartans followed below her, shouting up threats in an attempt to get her to stop. She ignored them all, and as she reached the edge of the market place she sped up, her legs eating the distance between her and a nearby flat roofed building that marked the edge of the square. She jumped again, sailing cleanly through the air, but even then only just clearing the distance between the stall and the building. As she hit the dry sandstone roof, she tucked and rolled, her boots skidding in the dust as she surged back to her feet and darted across to the opposite side.

Below her was another empty alleyway. The sounds of the Spartans' shouts from the market place were growing louder. Clearly, their knowledge of the city streets was superior to her own. They already knew where her path would take her, and were even now charging to head her off. The leap to the next nearest rooftop was too large a gap for her to jump, and so, with an irritated flick of her wrist, she dropped down into the alley, landing in a graceful crouch with arms outstretched as if she were a bird alighting on its perch. She straightened, her head whipping left down the alley as she heard the shouted voices still growing louder. There was no more time. She had to get out of sight before they found her, but where else was there to go?

With no other options remaining, she turned right, and headed off in the opposite direction to the shouted voices, her feet pounding the stone, and her scabbard swinging at her back. Just as she reached the end of the alley, she heard a triumphant shout as the Spartans entered it behind her, catching only a fleeting glimpse of her disappearing around the corner, but redoubling their efforts to reach her now they had found her trail again.

Callisto ran as fast and hard as she could, twisting this way and that through the streets but never seemingly able to shake her pursuers. Then, as she approached the end of one short street, a wagon pulled across the exit, blocking her path and causing her to skid to a halt on the dry cobblestones, dirt grinding beneath her boots as she did so. She let out a frustrated scream. This could not be happening! She had been a warlord feared across the length and breadth of Greece, then she had been an immortal, and ultimately a GOD! How was it that now the Fates saw fit to end her by throwing some merchant and his cart load of ale into her path!?

She stalked angrily over to the driver's seat and was about to clamber up onto the wagon, all ready to threaten the man's life, when a familiar face leaned out to look down at her.

"Fancy seeing you here," Ithius said, not actually sounding in the least bit surprised to see her at all.

"You!?" Callisto said, tying and failing to hide her surprise. "Leonidas sent _you_ to bring me back in?" she snapped, suddenly feeling the anger inside her grow sharp and keen. "What's the matter? Is he afraid to fight his own battles now?"

Ithius rolled his eyes at her.

"For once in your life, Callisto, do yourself a favour and shut your mouth. Now, would you just hurry up and get in the back. I may be able to get you out of here, and in one piece too, but only if you do exactly what I tell you."

Callisto frowned at him confused,

"I don't..." she began, but Ithius glanced up hurriedly at the sound of shouts from the next street over.

"Times wasting," he said looking back to her. "Now, in or out?"

Callisto gave an exasperated sigh.

"Not really much of a choice is there," she said, and reached up to grip the rear of the wagon, vaulting over it and in amongst the various barrels of ale that were still crammed in there. Obviously, Ithius had not had chance to unload the wagon since the night before.

With a click of his tongue, and a flick of the reins, he urged the wagon into motion again, the heavy set horses straining against their bits. As he did so, he tossed her a dirty looking grey robe with a heavy hood from where it had been lying under his seat.

"Put this on," he said.

Callisto caught the robe neatly, her nose wrinkling as a filthy odour suddenly assaulted it.

"It smells like someone pissed on it," she said.

"Someone did," Ithius replied, "but you'll have to put it on if you want to get out of here. And it would help immeasurably if you pretend you're drunk."

"I've never been drunk," Callisto replied.

Ithius rolled his eyes again.

"Do you have to take issue with everyone and everything?"

Callisto shrugged as she clambered onto the driver's seat beside him, tugging the robe on despite its stench. She pulled her long hair back, tying a knot in it so that it hung in a shaggy ponytail and would be easier to hide beneath the hood.

"Not really," she said. "I just enjoy it."

Behind them, the Spartans hurried out into the street, eyes searching desperately for her but seeing only the disappearing wagon. Callisto hurriedly drew the hood up before anyone could catch sight of her blonde hair.

"Halt!" called one of the Spartans, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as Ithius drew the wagon to a stop.

"What in Tartarus...!?" she hissed at him. "...They'll recognise me for certain!"

"I know what I'm doing," Ithius whispered back. "Just trust me."

"I've been having a hard time doing that recently," she snapped, thinking of Leonidas.

"Or ever," Ithius shot back. "Now be quiet and pretend you're drunk like I told you too!"

Callisto scowled at him but wracked her brains anyway, trying desperately to think of the drunks she had known in her life. She had known more than a few to be honest. Bandits and roving warriors were hardly known for their sobriety, but the one's she truly remembered best were the men who her father had drunk with at the inn in Cirra. Every other night he had gone there to unwind after a hard day's toil in the fields outside the village. He and the other men who had gone there used to sing many a drinking song throughout the night. At first they had been raucous and bawdy, but as the night grew long and the stars came out, they had gradually become slower, deeper and more mournful. She had vague memories of a particular song. It had been a strange song, she recalled, its tone low and haunting. It had hung on the air and in her dreams long after they had all retired for the night. She tried to remember the words now and was surprised when she actually could.

_"As long as you live, shine,  
Let nothing grieve you beyond measure.  
For your life is short,  
and time will claim its toll." _

She felt her throat ache and she sniffed slightly as she began to recite it, memories of her family drifting poisonously at the back of her mind. As she mumbled it to herself, she kept her voice deep and throaty so as to sound more masculine, but at the same time deliberately tripping over the words so that she would often have to repeat lines.

Next to her, she caught Ithius shooting her a strange look out of the corner of his eye, but before she could turn to confront him, a thick set Spartan, with a neck as wide as his square cut jaw, stepped past her to stand beside Ithius. He wore a red cape, buckled to his armour with Leonidas' roaring lion crest. She thought she caught him giving her a suspicious look for a moment, and hung her head lower in response, pretending as if she were half asleep and slowly heading the rest of the way into full blown alcoholic oblivion. All the while making sure the hood completely obscured her face. To see beneath it now, he would have to stand next to her and crane his neck.

"May I ask what your business is?" The Spartan said as he stepped up to Ithius, then blanched visibly as he caught sight of the former Helot's face for the first time. Clearly Ithius carried some weight among Leonidas' Spartans.

"I am on the business of your King, soldier," Ithius said, sounding faintly amused. "Obviously, you were not informed."

"I do apologise," the Spartan said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Had I realised it was you... it's just that, well, we were pursuing that warlord, Callisto, and your wagon..."

Ithius held up a hand.

"I understand completely," he said. "There is no need to apologise. We all have our responsibilities, our duties. You were just doing yours. Now, if you do not mind, I must be about mine."

"Of course," the Spartan nodded, and waved them on, still looking slightly askance at Callisto but obviously unwilling to challenge Ithius. "You have my leave to go."

"My thanks," Ithius said with a patient nod, then jerked the wagon back into lurching motion with a flick of the reins in his hands.

Callisto sang a little louder as they lurched away from the soldiers, mainly in an attempt to keep herself from laughing out loud at how easy that had been.

"I guess it pays to be friends with a king," she said gleefully once they were out of earshot, and the Spartans had turned and set off back in the opposite direction.

"It pays to be _of use_ to a king," Ithius replied. "My friendship with Leonidas has nothing to do with it."

"Sure it doesn't," Callisto mocked.

"He has his loyalties, and I have mine," Ithius protested.

Callisto chuckled nastily.

"Something amuses you?" Ithius said, glancing at her as they continued along the street.

"Just that you like to make this big song and dance about how you were once a slave," Callisto smiled, "but you were hardly working for no wages down a mine shaft somewhere were you."

"No," Ithius replied flatly. "Instead I spent my life fighting for a city that gave me no choice but to do so..."

"...while being bosom buddies with that city's king." Callisto shot back. "Face it Ithius, no regular Helot could have just waved those guards on like that."

"And your point is...?" Ithius said, his voice surprisingly patient. By this point in a conversation, Callisto was used to having people try to kill her, or, at the very least, wallop her with a staff. She shrugged again.

"None really," she said. "I just wanted to tweak your nose a little."

"Because you couldn't defeat me at Leonidas' palace?" Ithius said curiously.

Callisto fell silent, uncertain of how to respond. Was he right? Did she just want to get back at him for showing her up? If that were true, why did it even matter so much to her? She shook her head, dismissing that line of thought all together. She had never cared what people thought of her before and she wasn't about to start now.

The wagon turned a corner, and Callisto glanced up briefly to see the gate some distance away but now clearly in view. It stood open with at least fifty Spartan soldiers milling about. Those of the soldiers that wore capes, were wearing a mixture of red and blue that marked them as both Leonidas and Demosthenes' men. Beyond them was an enormous crowd of people, hundreds of them in fact, all clustered tightly together in the street, the atmosphere around them a curious and tense mix of fear and anger. She had felt similar before, many times in fact, and when she had, it had usually been directed at her. A small number of the crowd had actually stepped out ahead of the rest and a few even appeared to be speaking animatedly with a Spartan dressed in a blue cape of Demosthenes.

"Looks like things might turn ugly down there," she said.

"Can you blame them?" Ithius replied. "With the Persians at our doorstep, they just want to be allowed some small degree of protection."

Callisto dropped her head again so as to obscure her features beneath the grey robe's hood. She could not figure Ithius out, and that was bothering her far more than it should. What was he really about and who did he truly serve? She was usually so good at this, but this time the answers were elusive, and she did not like it.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked suddenly.

"Because I've been watching you," Ithius replied without hesitation.

"I know that you've been thinking the same thing as me," he continued, gesturing out toward the crowd of Helots and Spartans at the gates. "Something isn't right about all of this. It's all too perfectly arrayed against us, like this whole situation is being staged for someone else's benefit. I've had my suspicions for a while now, but Hutâna's murder decided me on it. Someone is playing us off against one another. Someone wants a war, and I don't know who."

He turned to fix her with a steady gaze.

"I need your help, Callisto. Sparta may not be the perfect home, but it _is_ my home nevertheless. I would not see it harmed, from without or from within."

"You don't think I murdered the Persian do you?" she said, with a look of honest surprise.

Ithius shook his head.

"No I don't. You had no reason to, and after seeing you yesterday in the council chambers and again this morning with Leonidas..." he paused, searching for the right words.

"...I think you're trying to help," he said finally. "In your own unconventional way."

"Tell that to Leonidas and the others," Callisto shot back, her voice carrying a touch of bitterness.

Ithius fixed her with long level stare.

"You didn't strike me as the kind of person that would even care about that," he said.

Callisto said nothing, instead clasping her hands together tightly and staring down at them.

"Don't judge him too harshly," Ithius continued eventually. "He has the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. I've known him for years, and while he's hardly infallible, his first instincts about people are usually good ones."

A slight smile lit at the corners of his mouth.

"If it means anything, I think he was right to trust you,"

"Ha!" Callisto barked out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "He just saw me as a way to throw the Persians off balance, and all of it because of my history with Xena. If she'd been here, he would have chosen her instead, and I doubt anyone would have ever accused the great 'Warrior Princess' of murder, even when it's her stock-in-trade!"

"You may be right about that," Ithius admitted. "But if you truly do feel that way, it begs the question, why did you even agree to help in the first place?"

Callisto paused. She could hardly answer with 'because a god promised me peace in paradise'. And besides, was that even the reason? The more she thought about it, the more she was beginning to doubt that that was even the truth. Why was she even here? Was she really trying to outdo the woman who had caused her so much misery? Or was it something else?

"It seemed worthwhile," was all she could manage.

Ithius gave her a sideways glance.

"That seems a little weak, especially coming from you," he said. Callisto turned a hard stare on him from beneath the edge of her hood.

"You think you know me?" she spat.

"Well enough to beat you in a fight at least, yes," Ithius said, and when he spoke again his voice carried a note of reflection, as if he were remembering words spoken to him a long time ago. "Know your enemies, and know yourself, and you will never face defeat, not even in a hundred battles."

"Oooh, wisdom!" Callisto sneered. "Where did you come up with that little pearl if I may ask?"

"Just something Leonidas' father used to tell us," Ithius replied, apparently unfazed by her taunting.

"Touching," she said dismissively and leaned back in the seat as the gates drew nearer, affecting a slovenly slouch that she hoped made her appear inebriated.

"So, what? You think I'm an enemy then?"

"I've already told you, no," Ithius said.

Placing the reins in one hand, he reached and scratched thoughtfully at the side of his nose.

"You know, you never answered my question properly before," he said. "Why couldn't you beat me at the palace?"

"This again? I don't know... let me see..." Callisto said in mock ponderousness. She tapped at her chin thoughtfully. "Could it be that I didn't _know_ you well enough?" Her tone was jeering and derisive.

Ithius only shook his head.

"You don't know _yourself_," he replied. "All that anger and fury inside you, tugging you this way and that. There's no focus in you, Callisto. That's why you couldn't beat me. It's why you don't even know what you're doing here."

He motioned expansively at Sparta all around them and clicked his tongue at the horses as they clattered along the street.

"What is it that you really want? Do you even know? Or do you just plan to keep raging at the world until someone, somewhere finally manages to put you out of your misery for good?"

"I know exactly what I want!" Callisto snapped at him in irritation. "I want it to stop! All of it! The pain, the memories, I want it all gone!"

"You want peace?" Ithius said.

"If that's what you want to call it, then yes!"

The former Helot shook his head again, almost pityingly this time.

"And you wonder why you can't find it," he said, more to himself than to her but Callisto scowled at him anyway.

"Do you even know what it means?" he asked, this time directly to her.

Callisto opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she snapped it smartly shut and sat in silence, feeling her frustration boiling just beneath the surface. Something about his words reminded her of the previous night and her conversation with Pelion in the banquet hall.

"What do you know about the Followers?" she asked suddenly, trying to change the subject to something a little less close to home. Ithius only cocked an eyebrow at her as if to say 'I know what you're doing' but only shrugged in response.

"I have to admit, not much," he said. "They've always been lurking around the city in some form or other, but recently they've been growing in popularity. A lot people in Helot town are turning to them. Their claims that the Olympians have abandoned us, betrayed us even, have struck quite a chord. They've even taken over one of the temples to Artemis and made it their own."

"When?" Callisto asked, her suspicion building.

"About two weeks ago," Ithius said. "A little after that old priest Pelion arrived." He frowned at her curiously.

"Why do you ask anyway?"

"You said you thought something was wrong in this city," she said. "I'm inclined to agree, and I think they might be it."

Ithius' frown deepened.

"Any reason why?" he said.

"A couple of their members tried to kill Monocles on the road here," Callisto replied.

"Let me guess," Ithius said. "They came down with a sudden terminal case of steel to the gut before you could question them?"

Callisto grinned at him from her slouched position.

"It's like you can read my mind," she said, then shrugged. "Monocles seems fairly important to Leonidas' scheme to gain control of the city from the Ephors. If the Followers are out to kill him, it suggests that they're involved somehow."

Ithius tapped a finger thoughtfully against the reins in his grip.

"The question is, why would they be involved?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be asking you about them would I," Callisto replied sharply.

"Why didn't you tell Leonidas any of this?"

"Not enough information to go on," she said. "And I have no idea if I'm even right."

Ithius turned away from her, gazing thoughtfully into the middle distance as they rumbled up to the gate. Callisto's eyes widened when she realised they were heading straight for the Spartans and Helots engaged in conversation.

"This stunt again!?" she hissed at him. "You're starting to push our luck!"

"Then if you don't want to push it any further, I suggest you keep your head down, and sing that depressing song of yours again," Ithius replied. "I came here with a job to do and I intend to do it."

Callisto flashed him a venomous look, but was forced to quickly duck her head as a Spartan soldier dressed in a familiar blue cape stepped up to the side of the wagon. Callisto began to swing her head slowly from side to side, adopting the same slurred tone as earlier as he began to mutter the old drinking song back to herself again.

"Ithius," the soldier nodded, giving Callisto only a cursory glance. "Captain Sentos sent word you were on your way to help."

"And here I am Gracus, as promised" Ithius replied, "What's the situation?"

"Your friends over there are demanding entrance into the Inner City. We've already explained to them that with the murder last night, and this Callisto woman on the loose, the Inner City is closed to anyone not on official Spartan business."

"I see," said Ithius nodding and casting a sideways glance at Callisto. She sank deeper into her slouch, muttering in her best drunken slur."And how did you inform them of this?"

"We ordered them to turn back and return to their homes on the authority of the Council of Ephors," the Spartan called Gracus replied with a confused frown. "Those who didn't were threatened with arrest and imprisonment until their masters came to claim them. Was there any other way we were supposed to address them?"

Ithius gave a long deep sigh.

"You were supposed to try a little tact... maybe even a touch of diplomacy, but I suppose that's more than can be expected from Spartan soldiers."

Gracus bristled notably at that and glared at Ithius from under the rim of his helmet.

"You think you're something special, don't you Helot..." he began, but was stopped short when Ithius turned to glare at him, his eyes as cold as frosted steel.

"I will remind you that, at this moment, you are speaking to a free citizen of Sparta," Ithius hissed, "and I will be treated with the same respect you would show to any other. Are we clear on this?"

Gracus glared back at him, his eyes equally hard and unwavering, but he only nodded slightly in response.

"Good then," Ithius said and motioned to the crowd of Spartans before them. "Now step aside. I must speak to my people."

With a dark sneer staining his face, Gracus turned and barked an order to his men, who quickly parted as Ithius' wagon began rumbling forward again. As they passed through, Callisto thought she saw a couple of the soldiers throwing Ithius dirty glances, and almost exclusively they came from the men dressed in blue. It took them less than a minute to reach the small stretch of empty space between the even ranks of Spartan soldiers and the unruly mob beyond. The Helots stirred uneasily as they caught sight of Ithius, and Callisto could here low mutterings and whispers throughout the assembled crowd. As they rumbled to a stop, Ithius clambered to his feet, the added height afforded him by his wagon making him tower over the mass of people around him. Callisto did her best to appear nondescript but it was far from easy with Ithius grandstanding right beside her.

"My friends!" he announced loudly over the general hubbub. The massive crowd of Helots fell silent as he spoke, and Callisto felt a growing sense of unease in the pit of her stomach as all eyes focused on them. Clearly, Ithius had never heard the word inconspicuous before.

"I am here before you now to ask why you have taken it upon yourselves to gather in this manner here today..."

As he spoke, a dissatisfied wave of jeers and muttered frustrations went up from the crowd. Callisto even thought she glimpsed one or two flashes of steel in the midday sun among the gathered mass of people. Some of these people were armed.

"...only want protection..." she heard among the voices from the crowd. "...Served at Marathon..." was another, along with "...Persians will kill us all!..." A dozen or more cries continued as she sat, her fingers flexing as she wished she could reach for her sword. All around them, she could feel the hostility rising, but the robes Ithius had given her concealed her blade, and to go for it now would reveal her identity to everyone around them.

"I understand your concerns," Ithius answered the myriad voices. "Indeed, I share them! But today we have been given an opportunity like no other! I have come here to bring you an offer; one proffered to us by gracious King Leonidas himself."

A swell of jeers rose up from the crowd at that, like an angry wave upon the ocean that came sweeping in toward Ithius. To his credit, he held his ground against it, his back remaining straight, his voice unwavering as he spoke again.

"Good King Leonidas has agreed to offer us freedom!" he called out loudly, and the jeering immediately fell silent. Callisto guessed a good half the crowd looked surprised while the other half appeared confused, but to her great surprise, none looked particularly happy.

"On what condition?" called a voice from the crowd.

"Leonidas asks only that we fight with him against the Persians!" Ithius replied loudly. The Helots all but exploded at that, their voices raised in uniform protest, while behind her, Callisto thought she noticed one or two of Demosthenes' men shifting uncomfortably at that particular announcement. Ithius simply stood, calm and still as he waited for his people's rage to vent itself.

"I understand your anger," he said as the crowd finally began to fall silent. "Why should we, who have served faithfully for countless generations, continue to spill our blood on the altar of Spartan freedom, while never being granted our own? Have we not already lost countless sons and daughters to Spartan wars?Have we not already paid for our freedom, a dozen times over, in Helot lives?"

The crowd erupted in agreement at that last sentiment, and Callisto shifted slightly in her seat. The tension in the air was reaching fever pitch, and at her back she could hear the Spartans flexing, their leather armour creaking as they began to raise shields and ready spears. Things were beginning to get dangerously close to a full scale riot!

"But I say to you now, how many more generations will we lose should we not defend this city?" Ithius pressed on determinedly over the noise of the Helots. Slowly they began to fall silent again as he continued to speak. "Sparta is our home and the Persians stand at our door."

He paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the assembled Spartans, as if appealing to them as well.

"Soon they will be through it, and when they come, they will not care to ask about status or position, about Spartan or Helot, and they certainly will not care for the generations lost to a hundred unremembered wars. They will care only for conquest, to end our way of life, so that they may supplant it with their own! Leonidas offers freedom to all those of you willing to take up arms and fight to defend it!"

His voice ended in a triumphant shout, but to Callisto's surprise, the Helots only responded by regarding Ithius quietly.

"And what if we don't wish to fight?" came a voice from somewhere far back in the crowd. "What will become of us then?"

"I do not ask you to make your minds up now," Ithius replied. "I only ask that you consider the opportunity laid before us. Never before have so many of us been offered such clemency!"

"Us!?" came another voice. "How long has it been since you were one of us!?"

Callisto caught a number of Helots nodding in agreement with that, but Ithius pushed on regardless, ignoring the comment and gesturing to the gates he now stood beneath.

"But if we do not help now, if we show our loyalty as being only to ourselves and not to the greater good of this land we call our home, while other better men fight and die to protect it, then are we truly deserving of the freedom being offered to us?"

The Helots fell silent, and for long moments all around the gate was stillness. Callisto remained slumped in her seat, keeping her breathing even and low as she listening for something, anything even, that would break the apparent deadlock. Then, slowly, the front row of Helots began to turn away from the gates. As the crowd began to fan out and disperse, she glanced up at Ithius to see his shoulders visibly slump, the tension draining out of him as if he were a deflating wine skin. He breathed a long sigh of relief and was about to slump back down into his seat when a voice rang out strong and clear in the quiet. It was Gracus.

"That's right!" he snarled. "Go! Skulk of back to your hovels! Leave it to the real men to fight and die on your behalf!"

Callisto closed her eyes and let out a low, exasperated groan. She knew what was coming next. The first stone sailed out of the crowd of Helots and bounced harmlessly off a broad Spartan shield with a ringing echo of struck bronze.

"SPARTANS!" Gracus, bellowed, his voice firm and commanding. "LOCK SHIELDS!"

Callisto stifled another groan at the raucous clatter of fifty or more bronze shields being lifted into a defensive position sounded behind her. So far her inconspicuous escape was not exactly going to plan.

"Wait..." Ithius called out, but the rest of his words were lost among the hail of stones that were beginning to all about them.

"Ithius," Callisto said, her voice harsh as a particularly large rock rebounded off the wagon next to her. "I think either you should do something, or we should get out of here. Pelted to death with stones is not how I envisaged my life ending."

"On my command, ADVANCE!" she heard Gracus order the men at their back.

The wagon trembled slightly as the Spartans began to move forward in perfect lockstep, closing the gap between themselves and the stone throwing Helots. Ithius had already jumped down from the wagon and had turned to face the advancing Spartans, backing away from them toward the crowd of Helots as over fifty spears pointed at him.

"Please!" he began. "Stop this!"

But it was already too late.

One of the Helots jumped forward, a straight kitchen knife flashing in the sunlight as he made for the Spartan ranks.

"For Soriacles!" he shouted, but before he was even within arms reach, a Spartan spear took him hard between the ribs.

For a moment all fell deathly silent as both sides stared at the man lying dead in the dirt trail that ran up to the city gates. Then, with painstaking deliberateness, a number of his fellows began to step forward, hefting whatever they carried that passed for weapons. Ithius himself already had his sword in his hands, bringing it up in a wary guard as he continued to back away from the advancing Spartan line.

Callisto could feel the adrenaline surging inside her. This would be a massacre. She had to do something. She could not just sit by and watch. The thought actually gave her pause. Did she really care what happened to these people? Memories of her time in Penthos came to her, and how she had finally decided to stand for something beyond revenge. This was the same choice, right here and now.

She made it an instant.

With a fierce cry, she leaped down from the wagon hurriedly, and began to run to Ithius' side, starting to remove the robe as she went so that she would have more freedom of movement when the time for battle came, and, more importantly, that she would more easily be able to reach for her sword. Before she had even gone two steps though, Ithius turned to look at her and shook his head firmly.

She skidded to a stop and nodded, already understanding exactly what he wanted of her. This was not her fight. She had to find out what was really going on here, the truth behind the ever escalating tension in the city. If she could find that out, then maybe she could stop all this before things became even worse.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she began to back away toward the Helots. She had to find a way out of here, but where then would she go? How was she supposed to find out the truth? She did not even have the faintest...

A slow smile began to spread across her face. She remembered now. All too well in fact.

"The temple of Artemis," she muttered to herself, then glanced up at the oncoming Spartans. They were moving at a faster pace now, rhythmically drumming their spears against their heavy bronze shields as they marched, the pounding beat filling the air and causing the armed members of the Helot crowd to bunch tightly together, clutching grimly to whatever weapons they possessed.

Around that core group though, the relentless pounding of the Spartan advance was already shaking the nerve of the rest of the Helots and a ripple of unease was beginning to move through them. The majority were not trained soldiers and the idea of facing a disciplined Spartan Phalanx was more than they could stand. Already half the Helots present were beginning to turn and head away from the tight knit group that Ithius had now joined with.

"Brace yourselves men!" she heard him say as the Spartans neared them. Suddenly two of the Helots' nerves broke, and they turned to run. The moment's weakness was all the Spartans required and spears lashed out, dropping both men instantly, their tips staining crimson as they withdrew.

It was more than the Helots could withstand. With a fierce cry, Ithius and his men threw themselves at the fifty man Phalanx before them, while all around them, the street erupted into chaos as those Helots not fighting tried desperately to flee.

Callisto did her best to move with the crowd, slipping between them as silently as she could manage while all about her men and women cried out in panic. She felt someone jostle her, and purely by reflex, her elbow took the stranger in the throat, causing them to fall back, choking hard as she continued to slink through the now feral crowd that surrounded her. Her progress was slow but steady, and soon she was clear of the panicked mob and moving quickly down the street, the gates receding into the distance behind her. She had to find this temple the Followers had taken control of. Something told her that if there truly were answers to be had in Sparta, that was where she would find them.

She pulled the heavy robes she wore tighter around her as she pushed through a set of clean linen sheets hanging on a laundry line and into a side street well out of sight of the chaos behind her.

Back by the gates, the sounds of dead and dying Helots echoed on the midday wind as the Spartans went to work.

Callisto didn't so much as look back.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A slow update this time, but mainly because this chapter actually proved to be the hardest one I've had to write so far. The climactic scene was an absolute bugger to write, as was Callisto's discussion with Ithius. I'm still not entirely happy it, but it's time to move on and not dwell too much here. Continued thanks go out to those of you who are reading the stories and providing feedback. Thank you to Slytherin Studios, Shadowwriter 01 and Celianana for your continued reviews and GorgoStark for all her wonderful words of encouragement. This story is for you guys now, and for anyone else out there taking the time to enjoy it. I sincerely hope you all enjoy this latest chapter... things are starting to go from bad to worse now.

EDIT: Some added Callisto pov stuff and slightly altered dialogue to make for smoother, more cohesive reading.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Unnatural Shadows

**Chapter Eleven: Unnatural Shadows**

"...demand your immediate and unconditional surrender!" The Persian captain was ranting loudly, as he paced back and forth at the center of the council chamber floor.

Leonidas sat slumped in his throne, his hand massaging his forehead, and wishing he could just string the man up from the city walls to end his ceaseless prattling.

The entire Persian delegation was standing close to the entrance of the council chambers, with only the captain having taken to the floor. In the stands around the edges of the room, a moderate crowd had gathered. There were far fewer than had been present at yesterday's meeting, but that was most likely due to the state of lock-down in which the Inner City had now been placed. Desperate to recapture Callisto in the hope of somehow appeasing their Persian 'guests', the Ephors had closed off the entire of Sparta, a decision that had only exacerbated the tensions between the Helots and Spartans at the main gates.

Leonidas glanced up, giving Demosthenes an imploring look. The other king simply shrugged, as powerless as Leonidas to affect something that was, to all intents and purposes, the sole affair of the Ephors.

"We understand your frustrations," Nestus began, his voice even and soothing, "but surely there is some middle ground we can reach, some point of negotiation we can..."

"Negotiation!" the captain interrupted. "NEGOTIATION! Our forces out number yours a hundred times over, yet since coming here, we have been gravely affronted at every turn, and now you attempt to aid the killer of our ambassador in her escape!"

He laughed bitterly.

"No," he continued, shaking his head. "I do not think we shall be negotiating today."

Demosthenes sat up right at that, his eyes blazing angrily.

"You expect us to just hand over everything to you and your 'god' king then? Throw down our spears, and our dignity, without so much as a word of terms?"

The captain cast him a cold, disdainful glance.

"Perhaps if you were to give us the woman..."

"We do not have her," Demosthenes replied sharply.

"And _if_ you were to find her," the captain said, his voice as smooth and hard as marble, "would you make a gift of her to us?"

Demosthenes and Nestus both shot glances at Leonidas, who only shook his head in return. In truth, he did not know what to think about Callisto. Since the practice yard, his temper had cooled somewhat, leaving only a sense of confusion in its wake. Had she _really_ killed Hutâna? He could not be certain either way, and there was still the matter of the Oracle's prophecy to contend with. Whether she had done the deed or not, he had no intention whatsoever of handing her over to the Persians. No one, not even Callisto, was deserving of such punishment.

"I've already told you, no," he said, quiet but firm at the same time. "She is a free woman and a guest of this city; not some slave to be traded like cattle in a flea ridden market place."

"You see!" the captain crowed victoriously. "What point is there in even attempting a negotiation!? You cannot even reach common agreement amongst yourselves!"

Nestus fixed Leonidas with a furious stare for a moment before turning back to face the Persian captain.

"I assure you, he does not speak for all of Sparta," he said from between gritted teeth.

"Then why is he permitted to speak at all?" The Persian shot back. "He does nothing but offend us with every breath he takes."

Leonidas began to open his mouth to protest, when suddenly the doors to the council chamber flew open, and a heavy set soldier dressed in the garb of one Demosthenes' men came stalking in. He had his helmet tucked beneath his arm, and a deep gash above his eyebrow streamed blood down the side of his face. Nevertheless, like a true Spartan, he did not let his injury hinder him in the slightest.

He crossed the chamber hurriedly, but with poise, ignoring the Persians and the bystanders above him, pausing to bow only briefly to the Ephors before finally dropping to one knee before Demosthenes. Leonidas gave the other King a quizzical look, to which Demosthenes only shrugged in response.

"The council is currently in session Gracus," he said to the man kneeling patiently before him, throwing an apologetic glance to the Ephors as he did so. "I take it you have urgent news to report, or else you would not have interrupted us, am I right?"

Leonidas leaned forward, interested, but with a dark, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The news would not be good. Gracus was injured, which meant he had seen some kind of battle. The Persians could not already be here; they were too far away, which left him with only two other possibilities. Either he had faced Callisto, which Leonidas doubted he would have actually survived had he done so, or...

"I do," Gracus replied to Demosthenes with the slightest of nods. "My Kings and honoured Ephors, the Helots have assaulted the gates of the Inner City!"

He paused as a quiet murmur ran through the stands at his announcement. Nearby, Nestus and the other Ephors visibly paled at the news. Leonidas himself could hardly say he was surprised, but he still felt like someone had kicked his legs out from under him. This was something that he had feared might come, but that he had still secretly hoped never would. Well, now he knew what hoping got you.

"Go on," Demosthenes prompted, his voice grim and hard.

"Ithius led the assault," Gracus said, causing Leonidas to stiffen in his seat as he felt Demosthenes fix him with a stony glare.

"That can't be," he said, not immediately realising how loudly he had actually spoken. "Ithius would never..."

"It was he who gave me the wound you see," Gracus cut him off. He never lifted his head, but his voice still carried a hint of smugness as he spoke.

"You're lucky that's all he gave you," Leonidas muttered to himself.

"What happened next?" Demosthenes pushed, ignoring the both of them.

"We successfully defended the gate, and drove Ithius and his men back into the Outer City where we believe they have since gone to ground," Gracus said. "We have had resports of sporadic violence throughout Helot Town since the outbreak of hostilities at the gates. In response, all patrols have been ordered back to the walls, and we have set guards at any and all entrances to the Inner City. The gates have been sealed and we now await further orders."

Leonidas rose from his throne as soon as Gracus finished speaking and turned to address the seated Ephors.

"I request the honoured Ephor's leave to contact Ithius so that I may try to resolve this situation peacefully and without further bloodshed," he implored. "Ithius has been like a brother to me since I was a child. I believe he can be reasoned with and..." his voice trailed off as Nestus fixed him with a steady glare.

"We are well aware of your relationship with Ithius," Nestus said. "Our permission to mobilise your forces is not granted."

"But I can help..." Leonidas began to protest.

"You have _helped_ quite enough!" Nestus snapped. "Now be seated."

Leonidas sank miserably back into his throne. How was it all going so wrong!? Just yesterday he had had a plan all worked out; a plan that would have seen them all safely through the rocky waters in which they had found themselves. Now though, he snorted bitterly to himself, he could not even spy dry land. He felt all lost at sea, with no map or compass to guide him home.

"Demosthenes," he heard Nestus say. "You will mobilise your men as you see fit to contain this sudden insurrection. We permit you to use any and all means necessary to do so."

Demosthenes nodded gravely to an accompanying murmur of approval from the Spartan filled stands.

"As you say honoured Ephors," he said, not even looking at Leonidas.

"Our most sincere apologies for this sudden interruption," Nestus said, turning back to face the Persians. "These events are most unexpected, and unfortunate, but we hope they will not tarnish our discussions of..."

The Persian captain shook his head almost immediately.

"There really is nothing more to be discussed," he said flatly. "Your people have insulted us beyond measure, you shield an enemy of Persia from the rightful justice she must face, and now we see that you cannot even control your own slaves! We will be leaving your city tonight, and carrying word of all that has happened to our King. I would suggest you pray that your own gods will have mercy on you, because our God King most certainly will not."

With that the captain span on his heel, the sword at his hip rattling loudly as he began to march back to the other Persians nearby. Nestus cast a furious glance at Leonidas, then looked briefly to the other Ephors. Each one nodded in turn, causing the old man to let out a long, weary sigh.

"Wait!" he called loudly.

The silence in the room hung so heavy it was almost tangible as the Persian captain drew to a halt, his boots scraping dryly against the stone.

"I am assuming you have had a change of heart?" he said.

"If we were to surrender to you..."

The room all but erupted in cacophony of disapproving shouts and disgusted jeers, to which Leonidas added his own voice.

"Nestus, no!" he cried out, unable to believe what he was hearing, but Nestus only held up his hand, a traditional gesture that called for silence. The room quietened and Leonidas snapped his mouth shut, sitting stone faced as he waited with growing trepidation for what he was almost certain would happen next. Opposite him, Demosthenes looked unsurprised, but no less attentive, his hands grasping the arms of his throne in a furious, white knuckle grip.

"...If we were to surrender to you," Nestus repeated smoothly, as if the interruption had never happened, "what would your King Xerxes offer in return?"

The captain smiled triumphantly.

"Unfortunately, I am not Ambassador Hutâna," he said. "It was he who was granted the authority to speak on King Xerxes' behalf. Such a thing is not within my power, but, if you were to lay down your arms voluntarily, and allow us passage through your lands unmolested, the great God King _may _grant you clemency, and forgive your previous transgressions against him."

Nestus clambered from the bench upon which he and the four other Ephors were sitting, then slowly began to make his way across the council floor until he was standing before the Persian captain. The man was a touch shorter than Nestus, which caused him to straighten so that he could at least be somewhat on the same eye line as the old Ephor.

Suddenly, Nestus had a dagger in his hand. It was a ceremonial blade, small but sharp, and meant for sacrificing animals at the temples to Ares dotted throughout the city. It shone in the dim evening sunlight filtering in from the council chamber windows, as Nestus held it up in front of the Persian's face.

The captain suddenly looked uneasy, and his hand began to move toward his sword, the other Persian guards nearby following suit. Then, without warning, Nestus dropped to one knee, head bowed and the dagger held above him, laid out across the palms of his hands in a gesture of open supplication. The Persian captain stood for a moment, wide eyed and seemingly unsure of what was expected of him

"I offer you the complete surrender of Sparta," Nestus said.

Leonidas felt sick to his stomach. He had had a feeling this was coming, but now the moment had arrived he still could not quite believe it. How could they do this!? How could they just throw themselves down at the mercy of the Persians with so little pride!?

The captain reached out, his hand wavering uncertainly over the dagger for a moment, almost as if he did not truly believe what was happening, then with sudden, snake-like quickness, he whipped it from Nestus' grasp, like he expected the offer to be withdrawn at any moment.

"We accept," he said, his mouth splitting in a crooked, satisfied smile.

Leonidas' stomach lurched horribly. He could stand no more of this shameful display. He was on his feet in an instant, so quick in fact that the Persian captain visibly started.

"But I do not!" he said, his voice ringing clear and defiant across the council chamber. He stepped down from his throne and began to advance purposefully across the open council floor toward Nestus and the Persian captain, his heart pounding while the blood thundered in his ears. Was he really about to do this? With great effort, he willed his feet forward, one step after another, striding up to the two men as confidently as he could manage with all eyes in the room trained on him. Behind him, he could hear the rustle of movement as his own men began to descend from the stands to follow him out onto the council floor. He had never felt more proud to have them at his back.

"What madness is this?" hissed the Persian, his voice incredulous as he shot a confused look at Nestus.

"I would like an answer to that question as well," Nestus replied, straightening from his kneeling position to regard Leonidas with a look of unabashed outrage.

"My apologies honoured Ephors," Leonidas said, drawing to a stop less than a meter from the Persian captain with a brief bow of his head. "I do not... no... I _cannot_, surrender."

A quiet murmur rose in the stands but no one spoke up.

"It is too late," he captain said, his voice low and dangerous. "Your city has already surrendered Spartan, and now we have an accord. Would you threaten the peace we have just brokered?"

"Peace!?" Leonidas laughed. "Never in all my life have I been taught that surrender is the same as peace. Here in this city, Persian, the Ephors may decide our laws and we Kings may lead armies to war, but each and every man is responsible for his own choices."

He turned to address the half empty stands and found himself confronted by a hundred or more faces, all wearing the same expression of fear and uncertainty.

"Today, our leaders have given our surrender to these Persians," he said, his voice echoing with clear conviction from flat floor to curved ceiling. "As a king, I am bound to honour their orders. As a man, though, I am free to choose."

He reached up and gripped the bronze clasp at his shoulder that secured his cape to his armoured breastplate. With a loud tearing of cloth, he ripped it free and tossed it at the feet of the Persian with an echoing clang, the Lion decorating it still roaring in defiance.

"My choice is made," he said, and glanced at Nestus and Demosthenes who could only sit and stare in open mouthed amazement.

"I choose to fight," he finished, and with that, he turned and stalked out of the council chambers. His soldiers followed close behind him, their lion faced medallions joining his upon the cold stone floor.

* * *

Callisto stood some distance from what had once been the grandest temple to Artemis in the whole of Sparta, resting nonchalantly against the back wall of an inn. She had spent a good portion of the afternoon trying to find this place, as it had turned out that Ithius' knowledge of the Followers' activities had hardly been up to date.

In the weeks since they had taken this temple as their own, the Followers had taken two more besides it, and had apparently burned and defaced a number of shrines throughout Helot Town as well. The rumours she had heard, through careful questioning of locals, and considered lurking in the backs of shops and taverns, suggested that they had even begun to target the temples of Ares within the Inner City too. She had to suppress a smile at that. Much as the Followers unnerved her, the thought of destroying statues to Ares was cathartic. Naturally of course, she would prefer to be the one doing the smashing, but the difference in pleasure she would derive from it was negligible at best.

Finally, she had managed to find the main temple at the center of a large square surrounded by a cluster of old but sturdy houses and even an inn or two. It looked like it had once been a warm and inviting place, and in many ways, she supposed, it still did. It was a long low building, no more than two storeys high. What windows there were, seemed to have been cast out of strangely coloured glass, and set firmly into iron frames. The glass itself had been polished to a mirror sheen, and it glinted dazzlingly in the sinking sun, casting strange patterns of light across the nearby buildings as it did so. Mounted at even intervals along the walls of the temple were a series of roughly wrought iron sconces, while a single yew tree grew within the temple grounds on its west side. At the foot of the tree was a bed of carefully tended flowers, and a wide marble basin in which a deep water feature trickled quietly. Circling it this small park were a number of plain stone benches, all currently unoccupied.

All in all it presented a scene of complete tranquility, but there was something on the air that Callisto did not like; some vague sense of unnaturalness that made her spine tingle. It was the same thing she had felt the first time she had died and awoken on the docks at the edge of Underworld, waiting with all the newly departed dead to cross to other side with Charon.

Slowly, the sun began to dip low behind the houses and a number of Followers appeared from inside the temple. They were dressed in the same hooded crimson robes Pelion wore, and each one carried a blazing torch at their side. They moved unhurriedly around the temple's walls, lighting the sconces with their torches until a ring of warm light flickered and danced around the temple grounds. A deep resounding bellow of a horn sounded from within the temple, and at its call, the majority of the Followers turned and began to retreat back inside the building. Two did not however. Instead they began to move off in opposite directions to light further open topped sconces mounted on the walls of the buildings around the square.

Quietly, Callisto detached herself from the wall she had been leaning against and followed after the nearest Follower. As the man rounded a corner of the temple and disappeared out of sight of his fellow, she moved in quickly. She came upon him from behind, her fist catching him hard in the ribs and driving him sideways into the temple wall with muted grunt of pain. As he turned to try and catch his attacker, she moved in quickly, pressing her forearm tightly across his throat. The man struggled vainly against her, trying desperately to grip her arm and force her away from him.

"Stay still, or I'll cut your throat!" she hissed darkly at him. It didn't have the desired effect. Instead of calming, the Follower struggled even more, choking as Callisto pressed harder against his windpipe. Slowly though, his thrashing began to weaken as the air in his lungs ran out, and his eyes rolled back in his head until only the whites were visible. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he slumped dully, his body now only supported by Callisto's forearm. Glancing left and right to ensure she was not being watched, Callisto lowered him gingerly down to the ground and began to peel his robes off him, letting out a low groan when she realised he was wearing nothing underneath them.

"You couldn't have worn pants or something?" she muttered to herself as she shrugged out of stinking grey robe that Ithius had given her, and into the crimson ones of the Follower. The robes were large on her, their hem trailing a little distance on the ground at her back. She could only hope that no one would look close enough to notice.

She tossed the grey robes unceremoniously across the unconscious follower at her feet. Maybe the stench of urine on them, and their generally grubby appearance would lead to any passers by assuming he was just some homeless vagrant, or perhaps a drunk turned out of one of the local inns early.

Quickly, so as not to be seen near the unconscious man, but not so hurriedly as to arouse suspicions, she turned and made her way to the temple entrance. There was no sign of the other Follower who had remained outside. Perhaps they had finished their work and headed back into the temple already...

She shrugged and stepped up to the doors. They were a thick wood, and the handles were crafted from what she assumed was antler bone; a fitting detail considering this was supposed to have been a temple dedicated to the Goddess of the Hunt. She thought of the Headstone outside Penthos, and the sense of unease it had given her. It was the same feeling she had now, but she could not quite place the cause. Suppressing a shiver she reached out, pushing the door open with a resounding creak.

Beyond the doors was a stone antechamber, and already she could see signs of the Followers rampant defacement. What would once have been beautiful sculpted bronze reliefs depicting Artemis on the hunt, her bow raised high to bring down a magnificent grazing elk, were now little more than scarred and mottled ruins. Someone had carved deep gouges into the metal, and the goddess' face had been subject to a brutal pounding from a hammer that had left it little more than a mushed and misshapen lump.

She stepped fully inside, letting the door swing closed behind her with a muffled thud. A donations bowl at the far end of the antechamber had been upturned, while its contents - dozens of gold dinars - had been scattered across the floor and simply left there to glint temptingly in the flickering tochlight that filled the chamber. Callisto frowned. It was strange that no one had seen fit to collect them up. Money was money after all, but apparently the Followers did not care for it. She turned away and was about to start down one of the side corridors when she froze, suddenly realising what it was that had been bothering her this whole time.

One corner of the room was swathed in shadow, a thick impenetrable blackness through which she could barely make out the stone of the wall beyond. Despite the dancing torchlight, the shadows barely moved, shifting only slightly, and even then, in ways counter to what they should have done. She had seen this before, she remembered. The shadows in the Underworld... First in Hades' feast hall and then... Memories of a black taloned hand reaching for her as she fled through the grey twilight mists at the edge of the Underworld flashed clear in her mind, and she began to back away cautiously.

For the first time in a long while, she felt icy fingers grasping at her heart, while a chill sweat clung to the base of her spine. Even that ever-present hollow ache in the pit of her stomach retreated slightly as the sudden wave of fear swept over her.

Then, suddenly, and as if by magic, the feeling was gone and the shadows began to move normally again, the firelight affecting them as it always should have. With a shake of her head she turned and made her way off down one of the corridors and deeper into the temple. Occasionally out of the corner of her eye, she thought she would catch the same unnatural behaviour in the creeping shadows that even the torchlight from numerous lamps, braziers and wall sconces could not seem to touch. When she turned to study it though, the shadows would be moving normally again. As time went by, she did her best to ignore it instead. She had come here to find answers, and these shadows, creepy as they were, were not about to give her any.

Up ahead she could hear the sound of voices, or more particularly _a _voice. It was one she recognised all too well as she rounded a corner in the corridor and stepped out into what she assumed was the temple's main hall of worship. It was a wide, oblong chamber and had been emptied of seats to provide more standing space. A second floor balcony ran along the walls above, and overlooked the main hall. Set into the walls beyond the second floor balcony, Callisto could just make out the windows she had seen from outside. During the day, light would have shone in through the coloured glass, casting the hall in myriad different shades, but now, with the sun down and the last light of dusk fading, the only light was provided by the lit torches she had seen throughout the temple. Beneath the balcony, ran a series of heavy columns, and beyond these a number of side passages ran deeper into the chambers of the temple, most likely originally used as quarters for the temple priests and acolytes, receiving rooms, ritual chambers and so on.

What surprised Callisto most was the state of the chamber. All the statues and finery originally dedicated to Artemis had been brutally vandalised. Most of the statues had had their heads and limbs struck off, or at the very least, chiseled into oblivion, while weevings and etchings had been slashed or hammered upon until they were all but unrecognisable. The worst treated though was clearly what had once been the temple's proudest feature. It had been a huge gold statue dedicated to the Goddess, that must have once over seen the proceedings of worship with a warm and welcoming gaze. Now though, it was a ruin. Someone had lit a fire at its base at some point, burning and blackening the gold at the legs, while the arms and head had been savagely hacked off and heaped upon the altar at the far end of the chamber like some kind of sacrificial offering.

Callisto suppressed a shiver at the sight of it all. Even the cult of Dahak had not been this eerie. They had been a lot more about the blood, thunder and scorching fire. Her kind of people truth be told, but these Followers... she shook her head slightly, trying dispel the thoughts that were beginning to lurk darkly at the back of her mind, and returned to concentrating on her surroundings.

Filling the room now were at least thirty or more Followers, all of them dressed in the same robes that she herself was wearing. They stood in two large groups to either side of the room's central walkway, that in turn, ran the length of the chamber and up a small flight of stairs to the altar upon which the statue's head and limbs had been piled. Just in front of the altar, Pelion was standing, arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture to the crowd before him, a beatific smile spread wide across his face.

"Brothers and Sisters! I have called you..." he began to announce loudly only to stop short when he caught sight of Callisto standing apart from the rest of the Followers at the rear of the chamber. Quickly, so that no one would be able to recognise her, she bowed her head in mock supplication, hoping all along that Pelion did not have keen eyesight. Fortunately for her, it appeared that he had not managed to catch a good glimpse of her face.

"It appears we have a late arrival," he said, his voice nothing but warmth and welcome.

All eyes in the room turned to face Callisto, and she bowed her head deeper still in a gesture she hoped suggested embarrassment and apology all in one. She could not remember ever having had to be so restrained before. Hiding in plain sight was more exhausting than she had bargained on. She wanted to throw back her hood, run up the steps and pound on Pelion until he spilled his guts to her about just what it was they were up to, but something told her that that would not be the best way to go about things here.

"Come, join the others," Pelion called to her. "We were only just beginning."

Callisto nodded silently, and moved to the rear of one of the nearby groups of people. Slowly, the rest of the Followers began to turn back to face Pelion, and Callisto was about to breathe a sigh of relief, when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another Follower still watching her intently. He stood in among the crowd of people on the other side of the walk way to her own, and was the only one of them now not looking toward Pelion. Callisto turned her head slightly so that she could better look at him without arousing suspicion. Despite her best efforts, his hood was pulled too low to be able to see his face. She frowned as she studied him. She may not have been able to make out his face, but something about the way he carried himself seemed familiar. Try as she might though, she could not quite place it, and the nagging sense of familiarity taunted her mockingly.

As Pelion began to speak again, the strange Follower's head swang back to the aged Priest before them. Callisto allowed her own gaze to follow suit, but still did her best not to raise her head too high for fear of being recognised.

"Brothers and Sisters!" Pelion began again. "I have called you here for our nightly vows to our great Lord; he who is the rightful ruler of all that we see around us, he who was betrayed by his own children, murdered by his own blood kin! Long have we, the loyal Followers of his fallen might, mourned his passage from our world, but now, that period of mourning is coming to an end!"

Callisto worked her jaw as she listened, her mind racing. Cronus had been murdered thousands of years ago. Why would the period of mourning be at an end now? What had changed?

Pelion turned and picked up a staff that had been leaning against the altar before turning back to face the crowd and descending the steps down to the main temple floor. Slowly he began to move along the length of the chamber, the staff clacking softly against the hard stone floor with each step he took. As he walked, he spoke, his voice clear and strong, and gradually rising in intensity.

"Soon, we will cut the shackles that bind our Lord within his prison, and when we do so, he will step back across the boundary between worlds to return to us!" He ended in a triumphant shout, then suddenly, he calmed again, casting his eyes left and right between the gathered Followers that now surrounded him. Callisto thought she saw the man who had been watching her earlier stiffen slightly as Pelion looked in his direction, but she could no longer be sure she was even looking at the same person. In their robes, with their crimson hoods pulled up, each of the Followers looked much the same as the others.

"I sense the doubts among some of you," Pelion continued. "You doubt our Lord's power. You doubt that he is truly at our side. The usurpers defeated he and his kin once before after all did they not? Hyperion, Atlas, and the rest; all fell before the might of Olympus and were sealed far away, for all time, and none more tightly than our Lord Cronus, down in the deepest depths of Tartarus itself! How then can he ever hope to free himself? How can he ever hope to triumph alone?"

He reached out with his free hand and placed it on the shoulder of a nearby Follower. Callisto shied as far way from the old priest as she could manage without attracting suspicion. She did not want to be uncovered, at least not yet, and besides, the thought of that old man touching her made her feel... unclean, as if she would be marred by some terrible stain that would never wash away, no matter how hard she tried.

"I say to you all," Pelion called loudly to the rest of the Followers, "that he will not be alone! We will be there beside him. We shall lend him our strength! Each and every one of us! We have, all of us, been betrayed, hurt or in some other way wounded! All of us have been left, damaged, cast aside, unwanted and unhealed by this, a world presided over by unjust and unworthy creatures who call themselves our Gods!"

His voice was rising again now as he began to get into his stride, and Callisto was surprised to find herself actually listening to him for the first time. He spoke with such energy and furor that it was almost impossible not to. She had met people with this passion before, and they had all of them, without exception, been very dangerous men.

"We were all of us left alone, and in pain, clamouring for that same sweet vengeance as our Lord! It is that pain, that passion, that can embolden him. It will give him a power greater than any Olympian could possibly imagine, even with all their 'worshipers' and 'believers'! So I tell you now, as one, we must offer it up to him! Our pain will be his power, and his power will be granted unto us in return! Think of him now! Our Great Lord, the dead Titan Cronus, once master of all that he surveyed!"

The Followers around her all bowed their heads deeply, and Callisto did the same, feeling her thoughts wander as she did so. Was Pelion serious about Cronus? Was there really an ancient, and very much dead, Titan trying to return to realm of the living? How was that even possible? Escaping Tartarus had been hard enough for her, and she had had the help of gods on both occasions. She seriously doubted that any of the Olympians, even Ares with his questionable loyalties, would be willing to aid Cronus in his return. And even if this was true, how could he cross the boundary? She thought back to her conversation with Charon as he had ferried her back to the land of the living across the hideous, stygian Styx. The Styx was the boundary, he had said at the time. When people died, especially powerful souls, the boundary would weaken temporarily as they forced their way across to the other side. The river had been low then as well. Could it be that the more dead that crossed the boundary, the weaker it was becoming? But then that would mean...

She glanced up suddenly as she felt eyes upon her. Pelion was staring straight through the crowd, his steady gaze locked directly upon her, his head cocked slightly to one side, a knowing smile playing unnervingly across his lips.

"Remember," he said, addressing the whole audience of Followers, but still watching Callisto intently, "when you think of the dead, the dead can hear you. Hold him in your thoughts when the pain and suffering come to you, and none of us will ever be alone again."

With that he span back toward the altar, speaking loudly as he went.

"Do not forget the words I have spoken here tonight," he said. "May they serve us all in the days to come. Now, there is much that still must be prepared for before the day of the Return. All of you be about your business, and we will gather again at first light."

Slowly, the Followers began to disperse, all heading off in different directions through the temple. Callisto fell in behind one Follower, a young woman she guessed based the person's size and build, only to duck away into a side passage as they passed it. Breathing a sigh of relief to have a moment's respite from imminent discovery, she paused for an instant to gather her wits before turning and moving off quietly down the passage.

She frowned to herself as she walked. Had Pelion recognised her back there? If so why had he not alerted anyone? She kept her ears pricked as she walked, listening intently for any sign of alarm or discovery, but none came.

What she heard instead were pained moans and stifled sobs. Her eyes narrowed, as she listened harder. The sounds were soft and distant, but unmistakeable. Slowly, she began to move off in the direction she thought they were coming from, her gaze sweeping left and right as she moved along the corridor until she came to a nearby junction. Pausing briefly, she peered out around the stone wall. There was no one in sight, but again, she could not help but notice the strange shadows creeping counter to the torchlight all about her.

Trying to put them out of her mind, she listened again, more intently this time. The moaning and sobbing was closer now, coming from behind a door only a few meters away. Steeling herself, she stepped out into the junction and turned left, heading straight past a number of wall hangings daubed with sickle symbols in thick red paint, and over to the door, stopping to try the handle while looking cautiously up and down the corridor for any signs of unwanted company. Still everything was in the clear, and much to her surprise the door was unlocked. It swung open easily and silently, allowing her into the room beyond.

She stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind her as she went, and turned to look at the strange tableau laid out before her. The room was not as well lit as the rest of the temple and the unnatural shadows were deep and strong here. She swallowed slightly as she glanced around, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. The distinct feeling she was being watched itched at the back of her skull, but try as she might, she could not see anyone lurking in the corners of the room. There were no torches, and the only light in the chamber came from two sources. The first was a steadily burning fire beneath a huge copper vat, a pile of fresh fire wood lying nearby so that it could be tended quickly and efficiently. The second source came from whatever was within the vat itself. It emitted a strange, sickly yellow glow that made Callisto feel queasy just looking at it.

The smell hit her almost immediately as she stepped deeper into the room. It was a heady, sulfuric smell that hung thick and strong all about her and made her eyes water. Blinking hard against the stinging scent and the dimness that clawed all about her, she turned to finally see the source of the moaning. A number of people dressed in the crimson robes of the Followers were laid out on cold stone slabs that had been arranged along one wall of the chamber. Next to each slab was a small table with a bowl laid atop it. None of the Followers had so much as stirred upon her entrance. Instead they all lay flat on their backs, eyes closed and hands folded across their chests. One of them, a woman with dark Spartan hair, dry cracked lips, and white spittle stains at the corners of her mouth, coughed suddenly, and then began to sob quietly to herself. Her eyes never opened the whole time, but tears rolled freely down her temples all the same.

Cautiously, Callisto began to cross the room to the side of one of the other figures, a man this time. As she drew closer she immediately recognised him. It was Marsus, one of Pelion's two Followers that she had first met in Penthos all those weeks ago. She supposed she should not really be surprised to see him here. After all, Perites had been present on the road outside Sparta, and with Pelion pretty much in charge of the Followers within the city, it only stood to reason that Marsus would not be far away either.

Like the rest, he was lying flat on his back, eyes closed, but as she stood over him, Callisto could see his eyes darting rapidly beneath the lids. His hands on his chest were not just folded there she realised, but were clutching his robes tightly in a furious grip, and the tendons of his jaw stood out beneath his skin like rods of iron, so tight were his teeth grinding together. His top lip peeled back in a strange, feral snarl that turned quickly to an animal like whimper, but he still never awakened.

Frowning, she turned and picked up the bowl that lay on the small table besides Marsus' head. A faint residue of whatever had been placed in the bowl still remained. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed. The same sulfuric smell that hung in the air assailed her nostrils, but stronger now. She glanced warily back over her shoulder toward the vat. Placing the bowl back on the table, she turned and moved over to inspect it. As she came closer, the sulfuric smell grew stronger and stronger until it was almost overpowering. Reaching the rim of the copper vat, she leaned over, doing her best to hold her breath against the powerful stench emanating from within.

What she found was a strange yellow liquid, its surface as smooth as polished glass, and not even bubbling, despite the burning fire beneath it clearly making it steam slightly. It glowed dully in the dim light of the chamber, but, like the light from the fire, its dull yellow glow barely touched the omnipresent shadows. Clearly from the residue in the bowls, these people had either been made to ingest the strange liquid, or had done so willingly. Given the fanaticism of the Followers she had seen, she would lay odds against evens that it was the latter.

For a moment she toyed with the idea of dipping her finger into the strange liquid and trying some herself, but quickly thought better of it. Ending up laid out on stone slabs had not worked well for her recently.

She turned and started back toward where Marsus lay, beginning to feel the anger inside her burning hotter as she stared down at the row of people in front of her. All of them looked... lost somehow... and in pain, yes... so much pain... all of them believing Cronus could take it from them and turn it into... what? Something good? Powerful? Righteous? Callisto was not sure, and the more she thought about it, the more she found herself surprised that she was even entertaining the concept. Could it be true? Could Cronus really take all that pain away?

So many had promised her similar in the past. Ares had promised her satisfaction, an end to the pain and suffering if only she had toed his line. Hera and Hope had been the same, promising her they could stop the pain, if only she would aid in their plans. And then there had been Xena. Xena... the thought of the dark haired warrior that had taken everything from her, burned white hot across her memories, stoking her hatred all the more. Hades and Zeus had been next, offering her a peace they had still yet to honour.

And now here she was again, faced with a way to end all her suffering and pain in an instant, if she would only surrender them up to Cronus. How would Cronus be any different to the rest of them? The gods had overthrown him for a reason after all, and if Callisto remembered the stories correctly, it had not been due to his eternally sunny disposition.

Still the thought of Xena hovered in the back of her mind, taunting and ever-present, making her blood boil and her heart ache. She gritted her teeth. What good was this kind of pain to anyone? What good could her suffering ever come to? So far it had done nothing but cause her and those around misery; first her family in Cirra, and then Dahlia's family in Penthos. Somewhere beyond the edge of hearing, that same mocking laughter she had heard so often since her return from the Underworld sounded, clear, crisp, and filled with sadism. Unable to take it any longer, she snapped.

Without thinking, she in close to Marsus and slapped him hard across the face. He barely even flinched, only groaning a little instead.

"You're an idiot!" she snarled, then looked up to the rest of them. "Do you hear me? Answer me you pathetic little worms! What ever you're seeing now, I hope it hurts. You don't deserve any better. You're nothing but tools, all of you! You think that you can just wish away all the pain? All the hate? It's not like it's a bag of unwanted goods. You can't just leave it by the roadside and hope someone will take it away from you for nothing!"

She slapped Marsus again, this time with such ringing force that it snapped his head to one side.

"It's never that simple!" she hissed to the unconscious Followers, clutching a hand to her gut as she did so. "It gets in there deep, puts down roots like weeds in a cabbage patch. You can pick out the stalk and the seeds, but unless you can dig out every last bit of it, you'll never be free, and pretty soon it will grow again. Even death won't release you from it! You can't just give it all away like that!"

"Why not?" came a familiar voice from behind her. Callisto span sharply, straightening as she did so to see Pelion standing at the door to the room, watching her calmly.

"Why can't they just give it all away? The great Lord Cronus can take it from them. He can do such with it as you would not even believe."

"So you _did _know it was me down there," Callisto said, glaring at him darkly through dimness. "How?"

Pelion cocked his head slightly as he came into the room. He seemed to be listening for something, but what ever it was, Callisto could not hear it. He stepped into the chamber more fully, his smile strangely warm, but nevertheless calculating.

"Whispers on the wind," he said, a curious expression of satisfaction on his face. "I knew you were coming before you ever set foot in this place. There is much I can hear now that I could not before... much I know about you that you do not realise."

The corner of Callisto's mouth curled up in a sneering grin.

"Care to share then?" she asked, "Or will I have to cut it out of you?"

Pelion gave her look of honest surprise.

"Why would I withhold such knowledge from you?" he said, beginning to advance on her slowly. "It is no secret. You have it in you to be a great woman Callisto. The gods have seen this in you. You can be a grand soul indeed, but only if you will listen to me. I know the pain you have in you; the pain, _and_ the fear."

Callisto felt her stomach turn at that, the mocking laughter in her head growing louder as he spoke.

"The anger burns so hot and hard that it scares you to look it in the eye. So instead you run from it, hide from it, deceive yourself about it..."

He stopped a good few feet short of her, just beyond her sword's reach. The old priest may have been crazy, but he most certainly was not stupid.

"I know precisely how you feel," he continued. "I've felt it myself; all that anger, all that fire and fury. I've felt it all, and the fear too. They used to burn at me like a consuming fire I could never truly extinguish, until all that was left was smoke and ash. I hated anything and everything, but I could not face it, could not control it. The fear kept me at arms reach from it..."

He paused meaningfully.

"...until _he_ came to me."

His voice was as smooth and practiced as Callisto had ever heard. His words dripped like the finest honey, and his tone was all sureness and perfect conviction. He believed what he was saying, without a shadow of a doubt.

"He helped me face my fear, held it up ragged and raw for me to see, and when I had done so, he took the pain from me, and it was like it had never been. I knew such peace then. Peace as I have never felt before, but I feel it now. Deep inside, I am at peace, perfectly calm and still, like the surface of a lake on a windless summer's day. I find my strength in knowing that my pain gives power to another, whose suffering is greater than I can ever hope to comprehend. In that knowledge, I find the courage I lacked before. I face my fears now Callisto. I do not run from them."

Callisto ground her teeth together in frustration.

"And what about them," she hissed, nodding her head toward Marsus and the others laid out in front of her disgustedly. "You call what you are doing to them peace?"

"No," Pelion shook his head. "No I don't. I call it fear. It is our fear that holds us back Callisto. Pain blossoms from it, and so, we must confront it if we wish to be truly at peace. That is what they are doing now, lying there, in silent communion with our Lord. He helps them, you understand. Shows them the truth deep down inside themselves, for in the end is that not where our greatest fears lie? Do you not wish to feel that same sense of peace Callisto? Do you not wish to finally be able to turn and face the pain head on, to lay down the burden of suffering you have been carrying for so long, so that someone else may take it up in your place?"

Callisto swallowed slightly as thoughts of her parents flickered through her mind. Her mothers eyes stared back at her, judging and disappointed like she had seen them during her first stint in Tartarus, and under it all, that same laughter continued to sound; harsh, taunting and for only her to hear.

"Yes," she said, and let out a long low breath. "Yes I do. More than anything...

The old priest smiled delightedly at her.

"...but you know what?" she continued, holding up a long finger as if something had just occurred to her. Suddenly and without warning, her sword was in her hand, its blade glinting wickedly in the dim half-light.

"I don't think you're strong enough to carry it for me!" she snarled, and as she spoke, she felt all the weight that had been pressing down on her invisibly these last couple of days lift as if by magic. This was not the answer, she realised. This way the Followers were practicing... that Pelion was preaching... It was just like all the rest of those people who had tried to use her throughout her life, offering her an easy way out from under the mountain of bitterness and hate that she had become buried beneath, when in truth, there was none. Well, she would not be used like that again! No! Never again!

The anger inside her seethed and roiled, and with a furious scream, she hurled herself forward, her sword blade swinging up high, ready to fall in a vicious downward strike that would cleave Pelion from shoulder to hip.

The old priest was already backing away from her hurriedly, his eyes widening in alarm, but there was no way he could avoid the incoming attack. He was moving too slowly. A grim smile of satisfaction began to spread across Callisto's face as she prepared to end his life.

Then, suddenly, the shadows that filled the room came alive, skittering and dancing madly across the stone of the walls and floor. Suddenly someone was between her and Pelion, a long dark staff topped with a shining silver blade in the shape of a sickle whirled up in a perfectly executed parry that wrenched Callisto's sword from her grip and sent it flying across the chamber. The strange newcomer suddenly pivoted back the other way, the staff and its wicked blade spinning around in a powerful back hand strike, clearly intended to take her head clean off her shoulders. Acting on pure instinct, Callisto ducked low into a forward roll, coming up on one knee behind the stranger with her sword mere inches from her. She reached out and snared it hurriedly as she felt her opponent move behind her, the staff falling toward the back of her skull like an executioners blade. She barely had time to get her sword up in a desperate parry of her own, the impact ringing like a hammer in the dimly lit chamber. Without hesitation, she kicked backward, attempting to take her attacker's legs out from under him, but he danced back out of reach, providing her a moment's respite to surge back up to a defensive stance.

For the first time she got a good look at her attacker. He was clad all in black robes, his face hidden beneath a heavy hood and the thick shadows that pooled beneath it. Around him those same shadows twisted and danced eagerly, clawing at the stone as if they could sense her presence and were eager to be unleashed against her.

"Well, well," she said, doing her best to sound nonchalant and unimpressed, when in truth her heart was pounding hard inside her chest. "Where did Pelion dig you up?"

The strange figure said nothing. He merely began to move left, circling her dangerously, like a shark circling its prey in the ocean. Slowly, Callisto began to circle back the other way, her sword held out in front of her, ready to block any sudden strikes he might make.

"Did no one ever tell your boy that not answering when grown ups are talking to you is rude?" she called to Pelion, who had fallen back into the furthest corner of the room from her, and was watching with interest as the two of them circled one another.

The taunt was intended as a distraction, but the shadowy figure never so much as flinched. Even though she could not see them, she could feel his eyes on her, and the sensation sent a bead of cold sweat running down her spine. Who was this freak?

She already knew what he was trying to do of course. As he moved to the left he circled closer to the chamber's one and only door, while as she moved right, she was moving further and further from it. She could not let him place himself between her and the exit. It gave him all the advantages and made it easy to predict what her next move would be.

Attempting to preempt him, she lunged forward, her sword swinging out with a slithering hiss in a neat horizontal line aimed across the robed man's sternum. His staff whirled so fast, Callisto could hear the air whistling around it, and her sword rebounded immediately. She did not waste any more time, moving in quickly to strike again, her blade weaving an intricate pattern of stabs, slashes and counters as she tried to work her way through his defences. She might as well have been swinging at a wall for all the good it did her. Nothing got through. She could not even take so much as a nick out of his robes.

As their blades struck off each other, sparks arcing brightly in the dimness, she could feel her desperation growing. With a yell of frustration she pulled back, her chest heaving as she realised that during their exchange and despite her best efforts, he had managed to maneuver himself between her and the door anyway.

"I've got to admit I'm impressed..." she managed from between heavy breaths and motioned toward the heavy looking robes he was wearing "...are those made of wool? Because it can't be easy to move in all that get up."

The stranger remained silent, ignoring her jibes as if she were not even truly there. Instead of speaking, he began to advance on her, his movements all sinuous and serpent like. Callisto began to back away from him warily in a vain attempt to buy more time while she came up with a plan for how to deal with all of this. He was proving far more formidable than she had anticipated.

The blade of his staff suddenly whipped forward and Callisto barely managed to twist aside in time, batting at it with flat of her blade as it passed neatly through the empty air where she had been standing moments before. She got the feeling it had not been a serious attack. She was being toyed with.

"I would surrender if I were you Callisto," Pelion chuckled at her. "Mortius is most tenacious when he sets his sights on something."

Callisto cast Pelion a disgusted look.

"Always nice when you have something in common isn't it?" she spat back, and lashed out with her sword. Mortius simply sidestepped the strike, hooking the blade and ripping it from her grasp as if it were a child's toy. She heard the sword land somewhere in the shadows, and was about to try and side step Mortius to go after it, when he took another step forward, his staff darting quickly to cut off potential avenues of escape. Each time she tried to get past him, the staff would whip around, forcing her to dodge and drop back further and further toward the rear of the room.

Now weaponless, Callisto's eyes swept past Mortius toward the door. She had to find a way past him and soon, but how? That staff gave him the advantage of reach, and made it easy for him to block any attempt she might make to get past him. She was all out of options. The heat of the vat and the fire beneath it began to warm her back, and glared at Mortius from beneath her lowered brows. She was all out of options.

"No more talk," she heard Mortius hiss for the first time as he eyed the vat behind her. "No more time. You will make a fine hammer blow to the boundary."

"Huh?" Callisto grunted, utterly confused, but Mortius did not speak again, only raising the staff high into the air instead, the blade poised to drop and slice Callisto from head to belly. She balled her hands into fists, her fingers clenching tightly as she prepared to fling herself at him in a last desperate attempt to escape the chamber...

...Which was when the door burst open and a man dressed in the hooded crimson robes of a Follower came crashing through it. He moved quickly and with deadly purpose across the narrow room, his balled up fist catching Pelion completely unawares and hard across the jaw. As Pelion staggered from the blow, the man followed through with his free hand to grab the old priest and whip him around in front of him like a shield.

Mortius span on his heel, the blade of his staff trailing only half a moment behind, but moving with a quick and easy grace to point straight toward the newcomer. The man already had a familiar looking notched dagger gripped between his fingers and pressed tightly against Pelion's throat.

"One more move," the man shouted in a voice that was all too recognisable, "just one, and your precious Faith here gets a brand new smile."

"Athelis!" Callisto said, her tone one of complete incredulity. "What in Tartarus are you doing here!?"

The newcomer tugged his hood down, revealing the shaggy shoulder length brown hair and dark brown eyes she knew from Monocles' mercenary assistant.

"I don't think now is the best time to be answering questions!" he snapped back at her. Mortius took a dangerous step toward, and Athelis pressed the dagger tighter to Pelion's throat in response.

"Ah, ah, ah" he said, shaking his head as Pelion winced slightly, a thin line of crimson welling up around the edges of Athelis' dagger. "Take one more step and I'll kill him, quicker than you can draw breath. Won't even lose a moment's sleep over it either."

"Athelis, my boy," Pelion managed to choke out. "What do you think you're doing? This isn't you... I know you... now please, put the dagger down and..."

"Shut up!" Athelis hissed at him from between gritted teeth, his voice filled with hatred as he squeezed the dagger ever tighter to the point Pelion could no longer even speak. The old priest's eyes widened imploringly at Mortius and the robed figure took another threatening step forward.

"I told you, back off!" Athelis said, then glanced at Callisto.

"What are you waiting for!?" he snapped angrily at her. "An embossed set of instructions? You need to get out of here! Now!"

The moment's inattention was all Mortius needed, but what he did next made both Callisto's and Athelis' jaws drop. He did not move to attack Athelis, but instead threw himself sideways, his dark robes billowing as the shadows seemed to reach out to embrace him... and then he was gone, vanishing into thin air as if he had never even been.

All fell silent and Callisto shifted slightly, feeling strangely naked without her sword in her hands. For a moment nothing stirred.

"Where did he..." Athelis began, when, suddenly, the shadows at his back began to twist and crawl up the wall in a manner Callisto was beginning to dread.

"MOVE!" she yelled, her warning coming just in the nick of time. Athelis shoved Pelion roughly to one side as Mortius stepped out of the shadows as if they were some kind of doorway, his staff whirling straight down and cutting through the empty space Athelis had been occupying less than a moment earlier.

The black robed man twisted as he stepped more fully from the shadows, sweeping his staff around in a vicious follow through that was aimed straight at Athelis' knees. Athelis moved quickly though, his dagger flashing low and catching the blade of Mortius' staff in one of the notches, the same move Callisto had seen him do on the road outside Sparta. The metals squealed sharply against one another, then with a slight twist of his wrist, Athelis locked the dagger and Mortius' staff jolted to a stop with high pitched shriek that made Callisto's teeth itch.

"Neat trick!" Athelis said with a nod toward the shadows. "Now let me show you one of mine!"

He twisted the dagger hard, clearly intending to snap the blade of Mortius' staff in two. Nothing happened. He tried again, but the blade did not so much as bend.

Mortius cocked his head slightly and Callisto got the distinct impression that if she could see through the shadows that clustered below that hood, he would be smiling at Athelis right now.

A pale hand snaked from his robe and caught Athelis by the throat, lifting him bodily into the air as if he weighed no more than a child.

Callisto gritted her teeth hard. Mortius was about to gut Athelis. She could not just stand by and watch! Glancing hurriedly about for something she could make use of as a weapon, she could feel the seconds passing by like treacle. Pelion seemed to have disappeared in the chaos, leaving only she, Mortius, Athelis and the row of comatose vegetables on stone slabs present. Nothing in the chamber was leaping to mind as being a suitable means for attack, until her eyes came to rest upon the blazing fire beneath the vat of the strange yellow liquid. A dark grin split her face as a plan began to take shape. And the best part of it was, it was so simple it absolutely could not fail! She reached out and gripped one of the burning chunks of wood from the fire by an end that had not yet been completely consumed by flame.

As she turned, she caught sight of Mortius, still holding Athelis out in front of him, as if he were inspecting him like he were a side of beef from a market stall.

"So you are the one Pelion has been running from all this time?" he said his voice almost flat, but with a hinted sneer of derision,"I must say, I am unimpressed,"

Their weapons were still locked together, and with a sharp twist of his staff, Mortius wrenched Athelis' dagger from between his protesting fingers, sending it clattering noisily to the ground. Slowly, but with dreadful inexorability, he began to squeeze with his own fingers, each one locked like a talon around Athelis' throat. Athelis' eyes bulged wide in his skull and his mouth lolled open as if he were a fish on dry land, drowning in the open air. Mortius was so preoccupied with throttling the man, that he never even noticed Callisto stepping up behind him, the blazing length of wood from the fire still burning fiercely in her grip. She reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You know, you never answered my question before," she said conversationally. "Are those robes made of wool?"

Mortius was just beginning to turn to look at her when she span the burning length of firewood around in a brutal swing that took the taller man hard in the ribs. Mortius howled in agony, and in his pain, he released his death grip on Athelis, letting the other man fall to the floor in a daze. His pallid hand flew to his side and he gripped desperately at the burning end of the wood in a vain attempt to force it away from him. Callisto did not make it that easy, clutching grimly to her end of the wood and moving in concert with him as he thrashed to get away from her.

Suddenly, there was a low, dull thump as the flames caught, and the scent of Mortius' robes burning reached her nostrils. With a final cry of pain, Mortius turned and flung himself toward a nearby wall, the cluster of shadows draped across it reaching out and taking him into them with open arms. Then he was gone, and once again, only Callisto and Athelis remained. The latter clambered back to his feet and groaned loudly. Callisto rolled her eyes. She did not have time to be playing nursemaid.

"Come on," she said, gripping him tightly by the bicep and hauling him the rest of the way to his feet. "We need to get out of here. This whole place is about to go up."

Athelis glanced about her groggily, but with a confused look in his eyes.

"No it isn't," he said, finally managing to fix his gaze on her.

"Just give me time," Callisto said darkly. This whole place made her feel sick to her stomach. She turned to stride back over to the vat of the strange liquid. Still holding her flaming piece of firewood, she wedged it beneath the vat and heaved, her teeth gritting tightly together as she strained against the weight of the thing.

Athelis appeared at her side almost immediately, jamming another chunk of wood beneath the heavy bronze, and grunting as he put his back into it. For a moment, the the huge container teetered on the brink, then with a final creaking heave, it tipped over, spilling the thick, glowing, yellow liquid across the floor of the chamber. Callisto turned and quickly snatched up her sword from where it had fallen earlier, rising to see Athelis doing the same with his dagger.

Below them the sounds of shouted voices and cries of alarm began to echo through the building. Clearly Pelion had managed to raise an alert.

"Okay then," Athelis said glancing about. "You're the big bad warlord. What next?"

Callisto glanced at him, then without a word, turned and walked out into the hallway. With a shrug, Athelis trailed behind her. She crossed quickly to one of the desecrated wall hangings devoted to Artemis and held the blazing torch to it until it ignited.

"We get out of here," she said, thinking of Mortius and what they would do if he should return. She moved to second wall hanging further up the corridor, and lit it on fire the same as the first. "Everything that's going on in Sparta, these Followers are involved in, I know it. We need to get back to the Inner City and make Leonidas and the others listen."

She turned and flashed him a grim smile, the flames burning hot and hard at her back.

"And we turn this place to ash on the way out," she said.

Athelis only stared at her open mouthed, then quietly nodded, lighting the chunk of wood he had picked up earlier off one of the blazing wall hangings.

Together they moved off down the corridor, lighting anything and everything that would burn on their way. As they approached the end of the corridor, Callisto began to feel a chill creeping up her spine. Slowly, she turned her eyes widening as further back down the corridor, she saw the shadows pooling deeply and froze.

"Athelis..." she began softly. The shadows began to creep and crawl up the walls of the corridor like grasping fingers, clawing at the chill stone and ignoring the dancing firelight as they stretched out toward the pair of them.

"What?" Athelis said, busily attempting to set light to heavy looking wooden bench.

"...I think it's time we started running."

Athelis looked up at her with a frown on his face.

"What was that?" he said, not having heard her.

Callisto cursed quietly to herself as the shadows flexed like a drum skin struck by a stick and withdrew, peeling back in the firelight to reveal Mortius standing in the hallway.

"I said run!" she bit off sharply, then turned on her heel and sprinted in the opposite direction. "NOW!"

Athelis followed her line of sight and gave a similar curse as he caught sight of Mortius, then turned to dash after her. The two of them barreled headlong through the halls of the temple, Callisto doing her best to remember and map out the passages in her mind's eye as they went.

As she turned a corner she skidded to a stop with a loud shout of warning to Athelis behind her. The torches in the hallway had been extinguished, and here the shadows were thicker than they had been elsewhere. Callisto barely had time to duck as the familiar silver sickle topped staff lashed at her from out of them, whistling harshly overhead as Mortius appeared in its wake. Callisto scrambled hurriedly backward on all fours, before twisting and darting to her feet, running back the other away and gesturing wildly to Athelis as she did so.

"GO!" she shouted, her heart pounding as they all but flew around another bend and up a flight of stairs, Callisto bounding up them two or three at a time. Ahead of her, Athelis called back a cry of caution as they hurried out onto the second floor balcony that ran around the edge of the main temple hall below.

The columns that ran along the edge of the balcony next to them cast long heavy shadows across the dark red carpet at their feet, and Callisto instinctively leaped into a high arcing forward somersault as she passed through the first, wincing as she felt something cold and sharp graze neatly across her back. When she landed, she surged on again, glancing back over her shoulder to see Mortius' staff retreating back into the blackness, her blood marring its blade.

"The windows!" she yelled at Athelis, as she recalled the layout outside the temple in her head. "Go for the windows!"

The man nodded as he ran, turning a corner and sprinting for the nearest of them, his long loping strides eating up the distance and carrying him out ahead of her easily. As he reached the window, Callisto saw him pull hard at it, his muscles straining as he tried and failed to open it.

"It won't move!" he called back to her desperately as she rounded the corner behind him.

"We don't need it to!" She yelled back and redoubled her efforts, pushing the last reserves of energy she had into a full tilt sprint, ducking her head and flinging her arms up to cover her face as she hammered into the coloured glass with all the force of a charging Minotaur. She just hoped this was the window she thought it was! There was a brief moment of resistance as she collided hard with the glass, then an ear splitting crash as it gave way, and her momentum carried her across the edge and out into the open air. Her arms and legs pinwheeled as she began to fall, the deep basined water feature she had noted earlier rushing up to meet her as she smashed down into it.

Hitting the water was like hitting stone, and all the breath rushed out of her in single pained gasp as her head vanished below the surface, cutting off the sounds of the world around her in a brief, muffled roar. For a moment she floated in the water, completely still as her stunned body tried to catch up with her mind as to what had just taken place, and for a brief instant, she felt herself relax, the hate burning inside her strangely quieted by the muffled softness that surrounded her. Was this it? Was this how it would all end?

The perfect moment of calm was suddenly shattered as Athelis crashed into the water beside her, causing Callisto to jerk upright, her head breaking the surface of the water with a loud gasping cry as she tried to suck as much air into her aching body as she could manage. Next to her, Athelis splashed upright, the heavy robes he was wearing flapping wetly as he clambered out of the water and into the park, his movements slow and stiff.

"The next time I listen to one of your ideas, remind me not to," he groaned, knuckling the small of his back. Callisto clambered out of the water behind him, pulling off her sodden cultists robes and wringing her water logged hair out as she went.

"Why thank you for saving my life Callisto," she jeered in a mocking, effeminate imitation of his voice. "That tall nasty man with the big stick would have snapped my neck like market day chicken if it weren't for you. How can I _ever_ repay you!?"

Athelis shot her an irritated look.

"You think you're funny don't you?" he said.

Callisto flashed him her most wicked grin.

"I _know_ I am," she said, and turned to look back toward the temple. The shattered window they had just dived out of gaped raw and ragged back at them, the dark silhouette of Mortius standing just inside and regarding them steadily. Callisto felt that familiar chill run up her spine, but she managed to wave back at him cheerfully anyway. Beyond, from the opposite side of the temple, a thick column of smoke was rising into the dark night sky. The entire east wing of the temple appeared to be on fire, and Callisto felt a brief moment of satisfaction at that.

"Come on," she heard Athelis say as he stepped up beside her. "We'd best be getting moving. The suns down and shadows are all over this square. I don't know how he does that trick of his, but I'd rather not hang around to find out if it has a range on it or not."

Callisto nodded, and began to back away from the temple, keeping Mortius in sight as she moved. He never left the window, watching her steadily the whole time, his head cocked slightly in the same manner she had seen Pelion do earlier.

When they were beyond the small park and out into the square proper, she turned and began to hurry for the back streets that fed into it. She glanced back briefly, but this time, Mortius was gone.

They were nearly out of the square, jogging for a street corner when, much to both of their alarm, a contingent of blue cloaked Spartans appeared, their eyes widening as they caught sight of Callisto.

"Oh, thank the gods," Athelis began, stepping toward them. "I never thought I'd be so happy to see a Spartan. We were just in that temple and..."

As he stepped toward them their shields rattled up into a perfect locked phalanx, their spears thrusting straight at the pair of them threateningly. Callisto began to back away from them and was preparing to turn and run when a second patrol emerged from another road at the opposite end of the square behind her.

"Ummm, maybe you can tell me," Athelis said, turning back to face Callisto, "but did I miss something here?"

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter was a bit of time in coming as it just became so long. I'm very happy with it though, and I hope you all enjoy it. As I have not beta reader, and it is so long, it has not been thoroughly proofread yet, so may contain a few errors or typos here and there. I will be going through and editing it over the next day or so, but I wanted to get it up so that people who are following along wouldn't have to keep waiting for it.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Contingency

**Chapter Twelve: Contingency**

The breeze atop the ramparts was cool where Leonidas was standing. It was almost soothing in fact, a chill balm upon his ravaged nerves. The stars were above the horizon now, the dark of night framing them starkly as his mind wandered.

When he had awoken this morning, he had been so full of hope for the future. Everything had been going according to his plans. I had all seemed so neat, so clean and organised. Finding Callisto on the road to the city had proven Miranda's prophecy true, Ithius had agreed to join with him in marching to Thermopylae, and he had been certain he could convince the council of Ephors to martial the Spartan army to war. Looking back on what had actually transpired, It was amazing to him how, in the space of a single day, so much could be ripped away from you. Now, the only part of his plan that did not lie in complete ruins was Monocles, still toiling away by candle light at this very moment back at his palace. There was something else as well though, conjured by the glittering stars in the clear night sky, a vague glimmer of hope that Miranda had not been wrong, and that Callisto may still prove to be the key to everything...

...Callisto. He had not known what to make of her at first. She had seemed so broken to him when they had first met. That changed quickly though. Just this morning, he had seen the woman she was capable of being; strong, defiant, and utterly unbowed by the world around her. As he had watched her fight, first taking apart his Spartan Phalanx and then dueling against Ithius, he had realised the truth about her. To her, the world was nothing more than a source of grief, something to fight and rail against until she stood triumphant atop it all, finally victorious over the demons that haunted her. She had it in her to be great, he had realised, if only she could learn to stop looking outward and to others for the freedom she so desperately sought.

The sound of the main gates creaking open began to fill the air, distracting him from his thoughts. He turned his gaze from the stars above and down to the long road below. It led out from the main gates, and wound its way off through Helot Town to the open country beyond. At this moment, Spartan soldiers draped in Demosthenes' blue were moving back and forth across cobbles stained with blood from the earlier riot. A few of the local Helots were among them too, come to collect their dead for the funeral pyres that were even now burning throughout the Outer City. They watched the Spartans warily as they went about their business, and none would tread anywhere close to a soldier.

Leonidas' eyes narrowed in a dark scowl as the reason for the gates' opening became clear. The Persians emerged, each one mounted and riding on elaborately bridled horses. They rode with their backs stiff and their heads held high in that manner that so infuriated Leonidas and a great many other Spartans besides. A number of Demosthenes' men moved with them as escort, prepared to lead what remained of the Persian envoys out beyond the city and give their lives in their defense if necessary. Behind one of the Persian horses, a litter was being dragged, a body draped in a dark shroud laid out upon it. The corpse of Ambassador Hutâna no doubt.

As they rode away from the gates, the Persian captain reined in his horse and turned to glance back over his shoulder toward the city. His eyes came to rest on Leonidas atop the ramparts. The Spartan King did not look away. Instead he simply stared back at him levelly. The captain let out a soft snort and turned his horse, urging it to a canter to catch up with the party that had already moved a short distance from him.

Leonidas let out a long low sigh and leaned forward, resting his arms tiredly on the ramparts, continuing to watch the Persians as they shrank into the distance, the dim gloom of night slowly swallowing them up like the maw of some great beast.

"War it is then," he muttered to himself.

"So you still mean to go through with this foolishness I take it?"

Leonidas turned to see Demosthenes making is way across the ramparts toward him, the chill night breeze tugging insistently at his blue cloak.

"It's not foolishness when there are no other options," he replied. "The Ephors have given away everything that makes us who we are; our pride, our dignity, our freedom. I will not let all of that go without some semblance of a fight..."

He looked Demosthenes evenly in the eye.

"...and neither should you."

Demosthenes drew to a stop beside him, leaning forward over the ramparts in a manner that mirrored Leonidas'.

"You want me to join with you?" he said, cocking an eyebrow at him in mild surprise.

"Why would you not?" Leonidas pressed. "Together we could hold the Hot Gates. With Ithius' Helots and the Athenians at our side, our numbers would be more than enough to..."

Demosthenes' eyes narrowed and he leaned in close, his voice little more than an angry whisper.

"Listen to yourself Leonidas!" he hissed sharply. "I warned you this morning but you would not heed me! I tried to tell you, you were standing on quicksand. Now it's sucked you down into it and you're clutching at anything for purchase!"

He gave an angry snort and turned his head to regard the Outer City beneath them.

"Athenians... Helots..." he sneered derisively. "Is that whom you would have us owe our allegiance to? Merchants? Philosophers? Poets? Slaves even? We are Spartans! We do not go, helm in hand, to the likes of them!"

"So we just surrender to the first army that might actually defeat us in battle instead?" Leonidas snapped back.

"Better to stand at the side of a conqueror than in his path!" Demosthenes retorted.

"You honestly believe that!?" Leonidas said dumbfounded.

"It doesn't matter what I believe," Demosthenes said, "All the paths into the future I can see, save one, lead to defeat, and a defeat far worse than what we faced at Marathon. Can't you see that? You made a great speech about choice before; Bold and impassioned. Were I a younger man, fresh from my training, I might actually have been moved enough to throw my lot in with you."

He shook his head sadly.

"No, Leonidas. I have had quite enough of defeat. Instead, I have chosen that one other path. The path to victory!"

"Is that all you care about? Victory, no matter the cost? What about loyalty, to our kinsmen? To our country?"

Demosthenes threw up his hands in an exasperated gesture.

"Don't be naive Leonidas!" he said and gestured expansively at the Outer City and the world beyond. "The Helots are not _our_ Kinsmen, and Greece is not _our _country! As Spartans, we need only ourselves and the man next to us. Our loyalty is owed to no other."

"And what of honour then?" Leonidas replied.

"What of it?" Demosthenes shot back. "Where was the Athenians' honour after Marathon? Where was the honour owed to us by Ares for the countless Spartans who fought and died there in his name? Don't be a fool Leonidas! There is no honour in a needless death, and that is all you are marching toward."

"Better that, than as the lackey of some Persian despot who reckons himself a God," Leonidas retorted.

"Who said anything about being a lackey," Demosthenes replied his voice dropping back down to little more than a whisper. "Listen to me Leonidas, you had your plans, foolish and undone though they have become, but did you really think I did not have my own..."

He was about to continue when a voice echoed up from the street below.

"My Lords!"

Demosthenes rolled his eyes at the interruption.

"What is it!?" he barked savagely, turning to glare at the soldier below them as he did so. The man was one his own men and an anxious look settled across the soldier's face as he dropped to one knee in hurried respect.

"I bring urgent news from out of Helot Town my Lords," he called up to them.

Leonidas' hands tightened reflexively around the chill stone of the rampart.

"Is it Ithius?" he called down to the man. "Have you found him?" He needed to speak with his friend, convince him that the march to Thermopylae was still worthwhile.

"I am sorry King Leonidas," he said, "but we have still not located Ithius, nor any of the men associated with him."

"Then what is the reason for your interruption then?" Demosthenes shouted.

"It's the woman Callisto my King," the man replied. "We've found her!"

* * *

The sound of the cell door grinding open filled the dungeon in which Callisto found herself. She and Athelis were standing next to one another, a long passage of otherwise empty cells stretching out before them. Flickering torch light made the bars of each cell cast long thin shadows that danced across the walls, and Callisto felt faintly relieved that the shadows were behaving normally here.

"Very homey," she heard Athelis mutter sarcastically.

"Move," said a harsh voice at her back, and she felt a spear tip poke her lightly between the shoulders. She flashed a fierce glance behind her at the Spartan soldier holding the spear. He met her glare evenly, seemingly unintimidated.

With a confident toss of her head, she turned and began to walk between the cells, all of which appeared to be empty. Apparently, the Spartans did not have much of a problem with crime, considering how little used this dungeon seemed to be.

Athelis walked at her side, and the two of them were ushered to a halt in front of single large, three walled cell, the fourth wall consisting of the bars and barred door they were now standing in front of. It had no windows, and the only light came from the mounted wall torches outside in the corridor. The floor and walls were built from uneven stone, and two long wooden benches ran along opposite walls of the cell to one another. Attached to the walls at either end of each bench were large iron brackets driven into the wall with equally solid looking bolts, and from each bracket ran a long series of chains and manacles. They looked long enough to allow some freedom of movement around the cell, but not enough to reach the opposite bench or the barred cell door. At the back of the room, a simple heavy looking bucket sat, stinking and unpleasant. Callisto wrinkled her nose at the pungent odour emanating from it.

"Honestly," she began, "how often do you guys clean in here? I've seen midden heaps that smelled better!"

Their Spartan guards ignored her. One of them crossed in front of her, producing a large set of keys, and unlocking the cell door. With the crunching grind of rusting hinges, it slowly swung open.

"Move," said the same voice as before, and Athelis stepped obligingly inside. Callisto stood her ground, and as she had expected, she felt a spear tip poke lightly between her shoulders.

It was the moment she had been waiting for.

In a single graceful move, she twisted and reached back, grabbing the haft of the spear tightly between both hands and yanking hard. The Spartan holding the spear gave a surprised grunt as her powerful tug carried him off balance, and Callisto took advantage by shoving the haft of the spear back toward him so that it jabbed into his stomach. The man gasped, and reflexively released his grip on the spear. Callisto quickly whipped the weapon back toward her and out of reach of the soldier, spinning it in the air with a whirring whistle, until the blade was reversed and pointing back at the soldier who had been holding it less than a second before.

She immediately heard the familiar rasp of swords being drawn all around her, and could even see a couple of spears being leveled at her, their pointed tips shining wickedly as each one aimed straight for her jugular.

"Ah, Ah, Ah," she chided them devilishly, wagging a finger at them as brought the point of her own spear up under the Spartan's chin to rest it against his throat. "One more move and your friend here won't be breathing through his mouth anymore."

"I am prepared to die!" the Spartan hissed back at her.

"Are you now?" she smiled. "Well, that would make things a whole lot simpler, were I actually trying to kill you."

Slowly she pulled the spear back, lifting its tip to point up at the ceiling above and planting its haft firmly against the cobblestones with a loud wooden crack. A number of the Spartans shifted uneasily, unsure of what game she was playing.

"I didn't do what you are all accusing me of," she said loudly, glancing about at the Spartan guard as she did so. "I will answer any and all questions you have, but only if King Leonidas is the one asking them."

With that, she tossed the spear back to its owner and flashed him another wicked grin.

"I wouldn't let me do that to you again, if I were you," she said, before turning and walking in to the cell, the confident poise she had once been so good at finally coming back to her again.

Once inside, the Spartans wasted no time seating she and Athelis on opposite benches and manacling them both to the wall. The chill cold of the shackles pinched at her wrists but Callisto did her best to ignore it. Instead, she leaned back on the bench and tried to make herself as comfortable as she could. She had no idea how long it would take for the soldiers to report her words to Leonidas, or even if they would do it, and she had had a long and exhausting day.

Nearby, the guards quickly finished securing Athelis, and then began to file out of the cell, the last one to leave closing and locking the door behind him, the bolt sliding into place with a resounding clack. He watched them both through the bars for a moment, then gave a slight satisfied nod, and moved off down the hall, presumably back to the guard post they had passed on the way inside.

Callisto shifted slightly on the bench, adjusting her pose so that she could sit more comfortably, and resting the back of her head against the wall, her eyes slowly drifting closed. She sat there in the darkness behind her eyelids for quite some time, but sleep did not come to claim her. Instead her mind turned over everything she had learned today.

The Followers were trying to free Cronus, that much was abundantly clear, but what was less clear was how they intended to go about it. She thought back to Charon again, and his words on the boat as he had ferried her back across the Styx.

She knew the boundary was weakening. Zeus and Hades had told her as much, pinning the whole cause of it on her killing of Strife, and later her own death with the self same hinds blood. Two gods dying in such quick succession had left a crack in the boundary, and now the Followers were apparently using that crack to drive a wedge through and force it even wider, much as she had done with Leonidas' phalanx. If they could widen the crack, could Cronus get free?

But how could they drive that wedge in? What was it they could use? She thought back to the temple. The answer had almost been upon her then as well. She wracked her brains trying to think, when suddenly the answer hit her, hard and completely unexpected.

"The war!" she said aloud, her eyes flashing open.

Athelis stirred where he had been dozing on the opposite bench.

"Huh?" he muttered, still not quite fully awake. "What are you talking about?"

"The war!" Callisto exclaimed again. "With the Persians! Death on a grand scale! Soul after soul will pass into the Underworld! It will be like hammer blow after hammer blow to the boundary! The whole thing will come crashing down and he'll be free!"

"He will?" Athelis said, sounding confused. "Who's he? Care to explain what you're babbling about?"

Callisto was not listening though. Everything was suddenly falling into place.

"They killed Hutâna!" she continued, the sudden epiphanies coming thick and fast now. Of course, they had to have done! It would be the easiest way to ensure the war got started and that none of Leonidas' schemes stopped it.

And she had been the perfect fall guy.

Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt the anger inside her stir, like a resting animal readying itself to rouse. She _had _been the perfect fall guy, and yet again she had been used, however unwillingly, in someone else's schemes. She sat perfectly still, feeling the anger grow inside her, and for once, she welcomed it with open arms. She wanted to hate Pelion and his Followers. She wanted to despise them, to hurt them, the same way they wanted to hurt everyone else.

They had used her! And that, she would never allow again!

"You look like you want to bite right through those manacles," she heard Athelis say. "Care to tell me what's going on?"

For the first time since entering the cell, she turned her attention to him, and it occurred to her how little she really knew about the man. Was he one of them? He had been at the temple after all. He had been wearing their robes, but then again, so had she. Could he really be trusted? In Callisto's experience, the answer was almost certainly no.

Her eyes narrowed critically.

"Who are you really Athelis?" she said, her voice becoming dangerously low.

Athelis gave her a confused look.

"You know who I am," he said.

"Do I now?" Callisto said and cocked her head slightly, looking him up and down as she did so. "So you really expect me to believe you're not involved in all this somehow? That you're just some random mercenary in the wrong place at the wrong time, is that right?"

Athelis gave a soft sigh and let his head drop back against the wall, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

"You'd be right if you did," he said, but only halfheartedly.

Callisto leaned forward as best as the manacles shackling her to the bench would allow.

"Do I look like that big a fool to you?" she sneered.

Athelis shrugged.

"You are a blonde," he said.

"Don't push it Athelis," Callisto replied, "Remember, I do kill people."

Athelis looked back at her, his head still tilted back so that he had to look along the length of his nose to see her. His gaze was steady and unflinching gaze.

"So do I," he said.

"How do you know Pelion," Callisto said suddenly, trying to blindside him with the question. "And don't lie to me. You two have history. Mortius all but said as much."

Pelion's shoulders slumped, and his eyes rolled back to the ceiling, a far off look in them.

"Have you ever been in love Callisto?"

The question surprised her. It was not at all what she had been expecting. She knew the answer of course, but that did not make it any less odd.

"I think I sense a tragic back story coming on..." she said, a sarcastic smile edging the corners of her mouth. "Should I be sitting comfortably?"

"Just answer the question," Athelis said.

Callisto sat back slightly on her bench, fixing Athelis with a level stare, the same sarcastic smile still playing on her lips.

"No," she said firmly. "I don't believe in it."

"Or you're just afraid of being hurt by it?"

Callisto's smile vanished in an instant.

"You know nothing about hurt!" she snapped, suddenly angry. For a moment the two of them just sat, glaring at one another, the venom in the air between them almost palpable. Finally Callisto let out a long low breath, trying to calm herself as best she could.

"Just tell your story," she said, managing to keep her voice more even this time.

Athelis sighed, and visibly slumped in his seat.

"I grew up thinking it would be like all those great romances we hear when we're children," he began. "You know the kind right? Some heroic deed, and Aphrodite works her magic on the pair of you. Then, bang, you're living happily ever after in peaceful country house surrounded by daisies in bloom."

He paused and gave a soft chuckle.

"Stupid really," he said softly. "I met her in a market place in the end. she wasn't some great beauty that could launch a thousand ships, or cause great nations to go to war. She was just a girl like any other, but her face was all I needed to see when I woke up in the mornings. Her name was Corrina."

His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but Callisto just sat quietly and listened.

"Her father didn't really take to me that much. He was strict. A bit too zealous if you catch my drift. He didn't think I was good enough for her, but then, she told me he was a little crazy and that no one had ever been good enough for him, so I tried not to let it bother me too much," He paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, and Callisto could see the pain behind his eyes.

"When her mother died, Corinna was grief stricken," he continued. "So was her father. He was a Priest of Asclepius you see..."

"The god of medicine?" Callisto said, and Athelis nodded. His hands were resting on his knees now, and Callisto noted they were gripping tight, his knuckles white from the sheer force of it.

"People would bring him their ailing, their sick, their infirm, and he would work his rights and pray to his god, all incense and whooping and hollering, but none of it really mattered. Whether they lived or died was all the will of Asclepius in the end. That all changed when the fever took his wife." Athelis gave a disgusted sneer. "He used to peddle hope to people, knowing full well he couldn't change what the Fates had in store for them, but when those same Fate came knocking at his door, he shirked from them, not wanting to give them their due."

Athelis leaned forward in his seat, his hands releasing their grip on his knees and instead balling up into tight fists.

"He never went back to the temple," he continued. "Corinna used to come to me, saying he had found something else, something new, or something old, she wasn't sure which. She was begging for me to take her away. She was scared that he was going to do something terrible. So I did the only thing I could..."

He paused, and Callisto was not sure whether he could continue or not.

"Go on," she pressed, and Athelis shot her an incensed look.

"I don't have all night," she said simply. Athelis' jaw tightened as he tried to control his temper, before finally managing to calm himself enough to speak again.

"I married her," he said, his voice harsh and cracked now. "We were making plans to leave, to get away from him and start fresh somewhere else. Then one day she didn't come home. The temple of Asclepius burned that night..."

He gave a pained swallow.

"...with her inside."

Callisto sat quietly for a moment, her mind turning over the things he had said.

"Her father was Pelion, wasn't he." she said. It was not a question. She already knew the answer. Athelis gave her slow, sarcastic round of applause.

"Well done," he sneered. "I'd give you a slap on the back, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He rattled the shackles for emphasis.

"So you're out for blood," Callisto said, ignoring his jibes, "Why didn't you kill him there and then? It would've been easy for a soldier like you."

Athelis glared at her angrily, and for the first time, Callisto found herself wondering if this is what she had looked like to Xena? There was such anger in him, pushed deep down below the surface but coiled like a snake in his gut all the tame.

"You think I didn't try?" he snapped. "Pelion fled before I ever managed to find him. That's why I took up mercenary work. Over the last few years I've wandered the length and breadth of Greece trying to find him..."

"You didn't go far enough south," Callisto interjected.

"...and then I hear stories about some strange cult gaining popularity in Sparta," Athelis continued, ignoring her, "one that sounded suspiciously similar to the kind of stuff Pelion had been getting into before he vanished into thin air."

He paused to shrug.

"I'd worked for Monocles a couple of times before, taking him places and watching his back while he ferreted around the world looking for scraps of his 'history'. When he asked me to head to Sparta with him, I jumped at the chance. After all, it was an opportunity to put Pelion's head on a spike and get paid to do it at the same time. How could I say no?"

Callisto's thoughts were running backward in time now, back to the memories of herself, standing with her head tilted back and listening to Xena's screams of misery and pain, her eyes closed in that one moment of blissful release she had sought for so long, and that had ultimately proved to be nothing more than a cruel joke at her expense. She had spent her life living a lie, the realisation of that had hollowed out the only hope she had had left. She sniffed slightly, feeling a dull ache in the back of her throat and cast her gaze downward, unable to meet Athelis' furious stare

"It won't do you any good," she said quietly. "You know that don't you? It won't make the pain any less. You'll still see her every time you close your eyes. She'll still be the last thing you see at night and the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning."

"I don't want the pain gone!" Athelis snapped, rising angrily to his feet as he did so. "I just want his pain to be the same as mine!"

"I think it already is..." Callisto began.

"Well then, it's not enough!" Athelis barked sharply, his voice rising to a shout. Suddenly, Callisto could feel her own anger rising in response. Who was Athelis to tell her how this all worked? He had only lived with it for a couple of years at most. She had lived with hers for much longer.

"Then when is it enough?" she shouted, surging to her feet, her shackles snapping taught as she stalked forward a few steps so that she could glare at him furiously. "Answer me that Athelis! When is it ever enough for people like you and me!?"

"Ahem!"

The annoyed cough caused the pair of them to spin on the spot, Callisto's eyes widening when she saw who had interrupted them.

Just beyond the bars, arms folded tightly across his broad chest with Monocles standing a short distance behind him, was Leonidas. His still blue eyes flicked between them in a measuring manner.

"Took you long enough!" she snapped.

He finally settled his gaze on her, an irritated look on his face.

"Had I known the two of you were going to cause such a ruckus, I would have had the guards imprison you in separate cells," he said, then added, "at opposite ends of the city."

"How long have you been standing their Spartan?" Athelis snapped, all pretense at deference he had shown in the past now completely absent from his voice.

"Athelis!" Monocles hissed. "Show respect! You are addressing a King of Sparta,"

"I know damn well who I'm addressing," Athelis replied.

"Then have a care _mercenary_," Leonidas said, turning a disdainful look toward the other man, "or I may just see to it that you remain here to rot."

He turned his gaze back to Callisto, and she met it fiercely, planting her hands on her hips in defiance.

"I would have words with you," he said.

"Funny," Callisto replied, feeling her anger burn even hotter at the sight of him. There was something else behind it too though, a different kind of pain, like a dull ache she could not quite place, fueled by the memory of their last encounter. "You didn't seem that interested in talking earlier. Just making accusations."

"I never accused you..." Leonidas began.

"...But you believed them," Callisto shot back at him, the ache growing stronger.

"Are you telling me I shouldn't have done?" Leonidas asked, his tone taught. "I should have just blindly trusted you?"

"Yes!" Callisto snapped furiously. "Because _you_ came to me! Not the other way around!"

Leonidas fell silent and shifted uncomfortably, his arms falling to his sides, almost as if in defeat. Callisto frowned, her anger at seeing him again and the harshness of his betrayal momentarily forgotten.

"Something's happened hasn't it," she said.

"The Spartans have surrendered," Monocles chipped said in Leonidas' place. His voice was thin and nervous, his hands clutched together worriedly. "King Leonidas is planning to march his men out, in defiance of the Ephors' edict I might add, to meet the Persians in battle at Thermopylae."

Callisto's eyes widened in horror as she remembered the map she had seen that morning.

"Okay, I definitely missed something," Athelis muttered to himself. The others ignored him.

"Is that true?" Callisto said, fixing Leonidas with an earnest stare. "You're actually going to go through with it?"

He nodded.

"Are Ithius and the Helots going with you?" she asked.

"I don't know," Leonidas said, "I haven't been able to reach him since the riot at the city gates."

Callisto was already calculating the odds in her head. Ithius would come through for his friend, she was almost certain of it. He had done so at Marathon and he would do so again.

"The Athenians?" she said.

"Still on the march. They will reinforce us at the Hot Gates."

"What about Demosthenes?"

Leonidas shook his head.

"He agrees with the Ephors. After the riots and the death of Hutâna, he thinks the city is no longer safe from civil uprising. His forces will remain here."

"And yours?" Callisto said, not liking the numbers she was hearing.

"I cannot order them to march to war. It would be as good as declaring an insurrection myself. I can only order my personal bodyguard."

"Three hundred men," Callisto said darkly, her thoughts turning to the Followers. "It won't be enough. You can't go."

"What other options are there?" Leonidas replied, his tone weary and frustrated. "Sparta cannot be surrendered so easily. It is a betrayal of everything this city has stood for, for generations."

Callisto rolled her eyes. His thick headed pride was beginning to annoy her.

"Listen to me Leonidas," she said trying to step up to the bars, but being held back by the thick manacles around her wrists and ankles. "You absolutely cannot go! You'll all die there, and its just what they want!"

Leonidas frowned at her.

"Who's they?" he said. "Do you mean the Persians?"

Callisto shook her head angrily.

"Not the Persians," she said. "I don't think they even really matter. It's the Followers Leonidas! They want a war! They want death and destruction and they want it on a massive scale. If you march to Thermopylae you'll be starting the war they want so badly!"

Leonidas' frown deepened, a look of complete incomprehension spreading across his face. Athelis gave him a commiserating shrug.

"This is the bit where she loses me too," he said.

"The Followers?" Leonidas said. "That fringe cult in the Outer City? The one Pelion leads? What would they have to do with anything?"

"They're not just some fringe cult!" Callisto snapped. "There's more going on with them than you realise! They want the dead to hammer on the boundary! To drain the Styx dry so that they can free him!"

Leonidas stared at her in total confusion, but behind him, a look of quiet revelation was settling across Monocles' face. Callisto pointed at him eagerly.

"You understand me don't you," she said. "You have to help me convince him that this plan for suicide by Persian is a really bad idea."

Leonidas turned to face Monocles.

"You actually understand what she's talking about?" he asked.

"Somewhat," Monocles admitted. "The Followers are an ancient cult of Cronus worshipers, possibly even the remnants of the original temples of Cronus before he was overthrown by the Olympians. There are some interesting treatises connected with their history that also discuss the nature of Underworld and all the other spheres of existence over which the gods rule. The connections between them are quite fascinating, if a little over my head I'm afraid. It's all mysticism and dogma you see, but should any of it be true then..."

he gave an embarrassed shrug, as if he could not really believe what he was saying.

"...well, it's really just myth and legend isn't it? I don't place much stock in any of it to be honest."

"Then you should," Callisto said, her voice deadly earnest. "Myths and Legends can talk. I know, I've spoken to them."

The three men all turned strange looks on her, and Callisto folded her arms across her chest, glaring back at each of them in turn.

Leonidas stood in silence for a long time, regarding her with the same measuring gaze he had given her when they had first met the road only the day before.

"What would you suggest I do?" he said finally.

Callisto let out a long breath she had not even realised she had been holding.

"You had a back up plan," she said, glancing to Monocles. "If Monocles can find the tomb of Lycurgus, you can prove your ancestry and get the Spartan army to march right?"

"That's right," Leonidas replied.

"How many men would that be?" Callisto said.

"Somewhere in the region of ten thousand," Leonidas replied. Callisto felt her spirits soar at that.

"Easily enough men to hold the pass," she said emphatically. "Especially with Athenian support! You could see off the Persians in days, and end the war before it even has chance to start."

Monocles cleared his throat politely.

"There is one small problem," he said. "The trail I was following has gone cold. There's a particular ledger that the archivists can't seem to find. They assure me they have it, but that its been misplaced. Without it, I'm limited educated guesses, and even my best have lead me down a number of dead ends."

Callisto cursed silently, as Monocles turned to Leonidas.

"She is right though," he said. "I have read a great many campaign histories, and a force such as the ten thousand you mention could easily hold such a strategically valuable location like the Hot Gates against far superior a force..."

Leonidas cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Superior?" he said archly.

"...I meant numerically superior of course," Monocles corrected himself with an embarrassed cough. "If you could just delay your departure, give me but a little more time, and I am certain that I can find..."

Leonidas shook his head.

"There is no more time," he said grimly. "For this plan to stand a chance of success I must reach the Hot Gates before the Persians do. I must march by morning, and even that small delay could prove to be my undoing. I can't afford to tarry any longer."

"Then give me permission to continue in your absence," Monocles said. "Even if you are gone, the claim can still be pressed and your soldiers can be made to march out to reinforce you!"

Callisto never thought she would be so relieved to hear Monocles speak. She all but beamed at him and nodded in total agreement.

"The man makes sense!" she said. "Just because you have to march tomorrow doesn't mean the search can't continue. Then we bring the Spartan army at your back, and the Persians will never make it through the pass."

Leonidas stood quietly for a moment, one arm folded across his chest as he rubbed the fingers of his other hand back and forth across his lips, his expression lost far away in thought.

"Alright, you've convinced me," he said finally with a clean nod of his head, before spinning on his heel.

"Guard!" he shouted.

After a moment's waiting, one of the guards, clad in Demosthenes' blue cloak, appeared in the passageway beside Leonidas and Monocles.

"How may I be of service, King Leonidas," he said, but his voice did not carry the same respect it might have done the day before.

"I need the keys to this cell," Leonidas said as if he were asking the man to go and fetch his dinner.

"But Great King..." the guard began to protest, "...these two are the prisoners of King Demosthenes. The woman alone is wanted by the Ephors for murder."

Callisto bristled at being referred to so dismissively, but managed to hold her tongue. It would not do them any good if she went off on one of her anger filled tirades at this particular moment.

"And now I, _King_ Leonidas, am ordering their release," Leonidas said firmly. "They were my honoured guests. They spat on my hospitality, besmirched the honour of myself, and my line. I want them in my own cells, where I can more thoroughly..."

he paused for effect, as if considering his words.

"...question them." he said finally.

The guard shot Callisto a look that lay somewhere between satisfaction and indecision. She simply smiled back at him cruelly, causing him to look away with a slight shiver.

"I'm sorry Great King," he said, his voice this time a little more respectful, "but King Demosthenes ordered to be consulted on the movements of any and all prisoners."

Leonidas reached out and placed a hand on the guard's shoulder in a comradely gesture.

"And your due diligence does you credit. I'm sorry, but may I have your name?"

The guard glanced at the hand on his shoulder, clearly uncomfortable.

"Orestes, Great King," he said. Leonidas gave the man a warm smile.

"Well then, Orestes, you do Demosthenes proud, but answer me a question if you will. I have known Demosthenes for many years, and in all that time, do you know what value it is I have learned that he respects most among his soldiers?"

Orestes swallowed nervously and shook his head.

"Initiative," Leonidas said simply. "Now, you can follow the procedure, and disturb Demosthenes - who is no doubt currently busy with his search for Ithius and his Helot supporters - with a request from me to which he will almost certainly say yes... or you can show that same initiative that he so admires to me, and I will speak well of you at my next meeting with him."

Orestes stood still for a moment, and Callisto could feel herself holding her breath again. Finally, the other man dropped his head deferentially and unclasped the prison keys from his armour, handing them over to Leonidas as if he were offering up his sword in surrender.

"You are a fine soldier Orestes," Leonidas said, clapping the man firmly on the shoulder as he took the keys from him. "Now be about your business. I and my associate can take things from here."

Orestes glanced doubtfully between Callisto and Monocles, but did not offer any objection. Instead he straightened, bowed his head, then turned and marched out.

Leonidas watched him go then let out a disappointed sigh.

"That one will most likely get a flogging," he said matter-of-factly as he turned to unlock the door.

Moments later he was inside the cell and unlocking the manacles around Callisto's wrists and ankles. She did not so much as rub at the skin that had been shackled beneath the cold metal as they fell away from her.

"So now you trust me then?" she said, stepping out of the manacles that had been clasped around her ankles.

Leonidas turned and tossed the keys to Athelis, who managed to snare them easily, despite his chains.

"Unlock yourself," he said before turning back to Callisto. "Not entirely," he said in answer to her question.

"You still think I killed Hutâna?" Callisto said, her voice ringing with genuine disbelief. Did he really think so little of her, even now? She supposed she could hardly blame him, but the thought still stung nonetheless. Before her thoughts could go any further down that path however, Leonidas shook his head.

"No, but a great many of my plans have come undone since your arrival. You antagonised the Persians to the point of war practically single handed..."

"It's a talent I have," Callisto said with a shrug.

"...and someone chose to capitalise on that by killing Hutâna..." Leonidas continued.

"The Followers killed Hutâna," Callisto protested.

"If what you claim is true, then maybe they did..."

"I know they did!" Callisto interrupted again and Leonidas held up a hand to cut her off.

"Just stop!" he snapped, and turned to stride out of the cell. Callisto began walking at his side.

"I would like to believe you," he continued, "truly, I would, but so far you have not made it easy to do so. You have been like a hurricane at the center of my city since you came here. You rip up everything around you and cast it about like chaff on the winds!"

Callisto pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"Remember you came..."

"...to you," Leonidas nodded curtly. "I remember, but what I am struggling to recall is what backwards logic made me think that that was a good idea in the first place!"

Callisto shrugged again and grinned at him.

"I'm good at parties," she said sarcastically, to which Leonidas only rolled his eyes.

Behind them, the last of Athelis' manacles fell to floor with the loud clinking of chains as the mercenary followed them out into the passageway. As he stepped out of the cell, Monocles fell into step too, making a small procession of four as they moved off toward the guard post at the end of the passageway.

"Try to look like we have you under guard," Leonidas hissed at them. "They need to believe you're still my prisoners after all."

Callisto glanced back over her shoulder at Athelis, and was surprised when she saw that he had adopted a shuffling gait that suggested a broken and defeated man. Having seen the way Athelis taunted and jibed the Spartans since their first meeting, she had not thought he had it in him to appear so meek. She did her best to emulate him, hanging her head and scuffing her feet along the stone as dejectedly as she could manage.

It was not easy. As they approached the guard post, she felt the sudden urge to spit at the guard who had poked her with the spear earlier, but she managed to restrain herself by only the narrowest of margins, her fingers flexing at her side in frustration. A couple of the guards muttered something under their breaths but quickly fell silent when Leonidas gave them a calm but piercing glance, tossing the keys to the nearest guard, and continuing on, out and up a flight of stone steps into the open air of Demosthenes' palace courtyard.

"Move quickly," Leonidas said. "There is no telling when Demosthenes will return, and he will most certainly not be happy to find I have had you released into my custody."

They walked hurriedly across the courtyard, Monocles all but jogging to keep up with the brisk pace Leonidas set. Outside a number of red cloaked Spartans were waiting with a set of horses, all bridled, saddled and waiting for their riders. One of them was Callisto's own mare that she had ridden since Penthos. She noted a bag tied to one of the horses saddles, bulging with the sharpness of weapons placed inside it.

"I had my men collect your belongings," Leonidas said simply.

"You were going to release us anyway?" Callisto said, mildly surprised.

Leonidas shook his head as he clambered up into his horse's saddle.

"Not at first, but it pays to prepared for any and all contingencies,"

Callisto crossed to the bag and opened it. Sure enough, her sword was held inside. She reached in and retrieved it, buckling the weapon across her back as was her way, then turned to vault lightly into the saddle of her own mount.

"So what happens now?" she heard Athelis say behind her as he too mounted his horse.

"_You_ will accompany Monocles back to my Palace and assist him in his research," Leonidas said simply.

Athelis nodded.

"Understood,"

Callisto turned stare at him, her eyebrows raised in astonishment.

"You're just going to do exactly what he says? After all your bluster about not following orders? I thought you'd be running off to introduce Pelion to the pointy end of that dagger of yours."

Athelis gave her a strange half smile.

"I want Pelion, it's true," he said simply and glanced at Monocles, who was only now managing to struggle into his horse's saddle. "If finding this tomb messes with his plans, well, I daresay I won't even need to go looking for him. He'll coming looking for us."

Callisto opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut and nodded.

"Probably right," she said.

Athelis' grin widened until it was all teeth. Without a word he nodded to Monocles and the two of them turned their horses and began to trot off up the cobbled street that ran parallel to the palace wall. Leonidas gestured with his head to two of his men.

"Go with them," he said. "Ensure no harm comes to Monocles."

"And the mercenary?" one of the Spartans asked. Callisto cocked an eyebrow at Leonidas who gave an exasperated sigh in reply.

"Him too, I suppose," he said glumly. Callisto gave a dry laugh and the two Spartans wheeled their horses about to set off after Monocles and Athelis, urging their horses to brisk canter to make up the distance more quickly.

Callisto turned back to face Leonidas

"What's the plan for me and you then?" she asked. Leonidas eyed her steadily for a moment before speaking.

"We prepare for another contingency," he replied. "You've introduced a new scenario to me that, I must admit, I had not considered in my plans; that there might be a third party involved in all of this working to the detriment of the other two."

"So you believe me about the Followers?" Callisto said.

"I'm not sure, but you've brought so much that was unexpected into this little play of ours, that I think its time we found out exactly what role it is you're supposed to be performing."

Callisto frowned in confusion.

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" she said.

"We talk to the one person in all of Sparta who's seen the script," Leonidas replied.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A shorter chapter this time, but one that also wrote itself very easily. The dialogue just flowed very well this time, as I'm really starting to try and draw threads together now and prepare for the end as we speed into the story's final act. There's still a few more chapters to go, but there's light at the end of the tunnel now ;-)

Thank you once again to everyone who has taken the time to read and review or contact me via PM. You've all been awesome and I hope you still continuing to enjoy the story.

I'm starting to lay down plans for part 3 at this point. I have a clear idea on where that one needs to go story wise, but its just a case of planning it out somewhat so that I don't go into it blind and undo all my hard work on parts 1 and particularly part 2. Part 3 will likely be a bit shorter than part 2 as its plot is much less multifaceted and as its a more character driven tale that sets up the emotional states for everyone in Part 4.

Have fun reading and fingers crossed we'll all be reading 'The End' soon, although I will be sad to type it, for more reasons than one...

EDIT: As usual a once over to correct typos and tweak dialogue and sentence structure in places so that the chapter reads more smoothly.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Footsteps

**Chapter Thirteen: Footsteps**

The tavern was alive with activity as Ithius walked inside, his heavy brown traveling cloak pulled up to obscure his face. All around him was a throng of noise and movement, as dozens of local Helots went about drowning their sorrows after the day's many miseries. Here and there, people chatted and discussed, some bemoaning their current fate while others tried to put it from their mind.

This was the fourth such drinking hole he had managed to visit so far in his attempts to rally the various influential Helots scattered throughout the city to Leonidas' cause, and so far he had seen the same tableau in all of them. It was not just taverns he had visited either. He and a few other loyal supporters who had served with him at Marathon had been to at least a dozen or more local meeting halls, flophouses and slave quarters between them, and all to try and garner more support for the oncoming battle at Thermopylae.

One of those same supporters was with him now, a squat, chunky man, with thick legs and even thicker arms. His name was Drogo and he had been present at the council meeting the day before, along with some of the other men who had joined with Ithius during the riot. They had never truly been friends, but Ithius had found they shared similar outlooks and knew him to be reliable and trustworthy; a rare combination in Sparta, even among the ranks of the Helots.

When he gave it serious thought, Ithius was forced to grudgingly admit that Callisto had been right about his people. If there was a single enemy greater to the Helots than their Spartan masters, it was the Helots themselves. There was simply too much division among their ranks, too much backbiting and two facedness. Instead of sharing in a common goal of freedom from oppression, they squabbled incessantly among themselves for what power and prestige they would be able to hold in its aftermath. The constant bickering and infighting was wearying, and Ithius had hardly been surprised when Soriacles had chosen to retire from public life to tend crops in the hinterlands. On days like today, he even wished he had chosen to do the same.

"Soooo," he began, his eyes moving furtively across the crowd, as he tugged at the peak of his hood to better cover his features. He was almost certain that all the people here could be trusted not to give him up to the patrols of Spartans currently scouring Helot Town, but it was better to err on the side of caution than to risk a whole detachment dropping in to visit. Staying one step ahead of Demosthenes' men was proving exhausting. "Do you think Trellus will hear us out?"

Drogo followed his gaze and shrugged.

"I don't see why not," he said. "Soriacles was his commander at Marathon after all..."

"Soricales commanded all of us at Marathon," Ithius interjected and Drogo gave a nod.

"...but Trellus has been an outspoken opponent to Spartan rule since even before Soriacles was killed," he continued. "Rumour was that he was the one pushing Soriacles to get more involved with the political side of things. Thought he could do more good at the Ephors' side than sitting out in isolation on his farmstead. If we can get him on side, the rest will line up easier, I'm sure of it."

"Probably right," Ithius replied, but still, a touch of unease gnawed at his bones. Since the riot this morning, nothing had seemed to be going to plan. Many of the Helots he had spoken to had seemed wary of taking up arms in defense of Sparta. In truth it was hardly surprising. He had not expected convincing them to follow a Spartan King into battle would be easy, but nor had he expected it to be as difficult as it was proving to be.

After spending so long under the Spartan boot heel, many Helots felt that they owed nothing to Sparta or its leaders. He had thought that Leonidas' promised offer of freedom would sway them eventually however, and that it would ultimately bring much of the Helot community to his side. Instead, surprisingly few seemed even remotely interested, and those that were, only grudgingly so. Drogo was one of those few who had taken little convincing, but then, he had expected no less from his old compatriot. It was why he had been the earliest one Ithius had approached in the first place.

For a brief moment, that same sense of weariness and growing desperation threatened to overwhelm him, and a creeping doubt began to nag at the back of his thoughts. It was one that had been present even at his meeting with Leonidas that morning. Would they ever really know freedom? Was what Leonidas offered even possible? In truth he had no idea, but all things considered, it seemed to be the only option available to him at present.

Slowly, the moment of doubt passed, and with a long low breath to settle his nerves, he straightened his back and squared his shoulders. He could not let doubts cloud his judgment. He was committed now, and this responsibility, this burden of leadership, that had found its way to him was not more than he could bare. He would not let it be.

"Well then," he said, flashing Drogo a tired smile that he hoped made him appear more confident than he actually felt. "Let's see what Trellus has to say to us eh?"

Drogo nodded and the two of them joined with the bustling crowd of people. As they moved, Ithius caught brief snippets of conversation here and there; most of it the usual tavern talk and rumour mongering, but there was one brief snatch that caught his attention. Some local fishmonger had been over on the east side of Helot Town, and had caught sight of a Spartan patrol leading a blonde woman and a man through the city as he was closing up shop for the day. The mention of a blonde woman was what caught Ithius' interest.

"...it was just after I saw the smoke coming up," the man was saying. "A whole bunch of folk were saying how the temple of Artemis had just gone up in flames and then they parade this woman past me, all dressed up in leathers, and haughty as you please! The way she was walking, it was as if she owned the town. Didn't even seem to notice that she had twenty Spartan spears'n swords pointed at her back..."

Ithius frowned. That sounded like Callisto alright, but it begged the question of just what exactly it was she had been up to, and who the other man had been? When last he had seen her she had been disappearing off down a back alley as all around him had erupted into chaos.

The first time he had laid eyes on her sitting at Leonidas' side in the council chambers, he had to admit, he had been fascinated. Like everyone else he had heard a great many stories of the crazed warrior woman from the north, a true rival to the crown Xena had once held as the most vicious and feared warlord in all of Greece. She had terrorised the region around Delphi for months, and the stories went that she had even masqueraded as Xena for a time.

The woman he had matched steel with though, was anything but the crazed lunatic the stories made her out to be. Unstable and volatile yes, but not the rabid butcher he had heard tell of. Indeed, she was far more calculating than he had expected, and it had taken a great deal of effort just to stay ahead of her when they had fought. Ultimately, it was her own anger that had defeated her, as he had known it would. He had just had to bide his time and hold her off until it did so. She carried that fury with her all the time it would seem, like a lodestone around her neck, and while it might once have helped her survive, now it did nothing but hold her back.

Still, Ithius had felt strangely glad when she had managed to escape the riot. More was going on in Sparta than he had at first thought, and he had hoped that having Callisto do what she seemed to do best, and repeatedly kick the hornet's nest, would force some of the mysteries out into the open. If she had been captured it did not bode well for the future...

He did his best to put thoughts of her to one side, as the crowd parted in front of him to reveal a rough wooden table set into an alcove toward the rear of the tavern. A man, slightly younger than Ithius, but twice as grizzled, was sitting there now, a heavy looking club resting against the table next to him. He was heavy set, with a dark, coarse beard interrupted by a thin pale scar that ran down his left cheek, a prize from some Persian cavalryman, if Ithius remembered correctly. He was deep in conversation with a number of other people at the table, and did not appear to have noticed Ithius or Drogo. As they approached though, he glanced up, catching sight of them for the first time. He frowned slightly until Ithius lowered his hood, and then a broad, gap toothed smile split the big man's face.

"Ithius!" He boomed, a little too loudly as he got to his feet. "A pleasure to see you again old friend!"

Ithius nodded in return, glancing cautiously from side to side to see if the man's sudden outburst had attracted any unwanted attention, but no one appeared to be paying them any mind. Still, there was a note of forced friendliness to Trellus' tone that set his nerves on edge.

"Trellus," he said, with a half smile, trying to sound equally calm and nonchalant. "It _has _been a long time."

He gestured toward the man's impressive waist line.

"But at least there's more of you to see now. It would appear a life of freedom agrees with you."

Trellus gave an amused snort.

"We earned it, didn't we?" he said, lowering himself back into his seat, and Ithius could have sworn he heard it groan under the other man's weight. "We ended at least as many lives that day as any Spartan! How many Persians did you kill anyway? Ten? Twelve?"

Ithius shrugged.

"I lost count," he said.

"And I always thought you were supposed to be the modest one!" Trellus guffawed, then slowly his gaze drifted beyond Ithius and into the shades of the past.

"I got sixteen..." he said, his voice taking on a faraway tone as his mind travelled backward through time to the morning of the battle. Ithius remembered it all too well; the battle roars of thousands of men and the muffled thunder of their feet and horses' hooves as the Persians had charged. The dying and the screaming had come next, and sometimes Ithius could still feel the coppery scent of blood tingling in his nostrils. As he spoke, Trellus stroked slowly at the club at his side, and it was then that Ithius caught sight of the notches carved into the weapon's handle.

"...and lost thirty," Trellus finished, blinking suddenly as his mind came snapping back to the present. "Thiry good men, Ithius. Thirty men who never came home. Freedom was the least reward they could have given us."

For a moment. a shadow of regret and anger hung over him, like some great black storm across his mood, then, in an instant it was gone and he smiled broadly again.

"Would you both quit standing around like someone died!" he said, motioning to the seats opposite him. "Sit down, the pair of you. As I understand things, you've had quite the busy day."

Ithius slipped quietly into the seat, Drogo dropping into the one next to him.

"It has been..." he began, then paused as he tried to think of the best way to word it. "...Testing," he managed finally.

"Testing!" Trellus sneered darkly. "That's something of an understatement and no mistake."

"You've heard what happened at the gates then?" Ithius said.

"I would have had to be blind, deaf and dumb not to," Trellus replied sarcastically. "Rumour has it that you were there though? That you might even have had hand in the whole sordid affair."

"I was there to keep the peace," Ithius said, practically wincing at how poor a defence that sounded.

"Didn't do a very good job then did you." Trellus shot back.

"I..." Ithius began, then slumped his shoulders in defeat, his failure at the gate weighing heavily upon him.

"The circumstances were unfortunate," he managed finally. Trellus leaned forward over the table to look him squarely in the eye.

"Unfortunate?" he said. "Unfortunate! Is that really all you can call it?"

"And what would you name it?" Drogo butted in defensively. Trellus turned his hard stare on the other man.

"How about murder?" he said flatly. "Cold and calculated."

"Our people did strike first," Ithius said.

"With stones, Ithius!" Trellus fired back. "Rocks and pebbles against shields and spears! What did the oh-so-mighty Spartans have to fear from that?"

"An uprising," Ithius said matter-of-factly. "While they stand poised on the brink of war, our people are bringing anarchy to the streets."

"It's their war," Trellus replied, leaning back in his seat. "Let them fight it."

Ithius slanted an eyebrow at him.

"Surely you don't believe it's that simple?" he said.

Trellus only shrugged.

"Why complicate matters?"

"Because, if their war comes to Sparta, do you really think it will distinguish between Spartan and Helot?" Ithius said. "The Persians will not care either way, and Spartan and Helot alike will die by the thousands."

"So what would you have us do then?" one of Trellus' companions piped up suddenly. He was young, barely old enough even to have to shave. He had almost certainly not been at Marathon, or any other battles for that matter. "Should we just sit on our hands and watch this opportunity for freedom pass us by?"

Ithius frowned at him.

"What opportunity?" he said. "You honestly believe the Persians will free you?"

"Who said anything about the Persians?" the young man said with a sly smile, but next to him, Trellus gave an exasperated groan and scrubbed a hand the size of a side of beef down over his face.

"Adalon," he hissed, giving the young man a light clip over the back of the head with his free hand. "Learn when to shut your mouth!"

He flashed Ithius an apologetic half smile.

"I'm sorry Ithius," he said. "This is not how I wanted this to go."

"How you wanted what to go?" Ithius said, his suspicions growing. Next to him he felt Drogo stir slightly as well. He was beginning to think that all was not quite as it should be. "Are you the one whose been turning the others against me? Making sure they don't give me their support?"

"Of course not!" Trellus snorted. "They just heard the same things I did and came to the same conclusions."

"So you all blame me for the riot this morning then?" Ithius said, incredulously. Trellus shook his big shaggy head at him.

"No one is trying to lay the blame for this at your door, Ithius. We all know you did what you felt you had to for the good of our people. I respect that. I even admire it, but the word is out that you made a deal with Leonidas..."

"That's _King _Leonidas," Ithius interrupted, his voice low and dangerous.

Trellus waved the objection away dismissively.

"...a deal that may affect all of our lives..."

"That I did," Ithius nodded, but Trellus pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"...and that you did it without prior consultation with any of your peers," he said sharply. "Did you not think that that might ruffle some feathers?"

"I didn't have time to form a committee," Ithius replied. "I wasn't even aware that I should consult one, and I certainly wasn't aware that were feathers involved To be ruffled!"

"Then you were being naive!" Trellus snapped at him. "You didn't think that making a deal with a Spartan King to go to war on all our behalfs didn't warrant even the smallest discussion?"

"I didn't make any deal!" Ithius protested. "I simply agreed to carry Leonidas' offer to the rest of you!"

Trellus folded his arms and regarded Ithius levelly.

"Very well then," he said patiently. "What offer would that be?"

"An offer of freedom for any Helot who will ride with me to Thermopylae."

He had expected more of a reaction from Trellus; something akin to surprise or astonishment, but instead the other man just sighed.

"Thermopylae," he said flatly, and Ithius nodded again.

"King Leonidas means to face the Persians there," he said. "He plans to use the Hot Gates to channel their forces and hold their advance at bay. Its a sound plan Trellus, but he needs greater numbers. He's willing to grant freedom to any and all Helots who will fight with him there."

"And you believe him?" Trellus asked.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?" Ithius replied. "We've been friends since we were children. He has no reason to lie to me."

"It sounds to me like he would have many reasons," Trellus said thoughtfully, but Ithius ignored him and pushed on anyway.

"This is the opportunity we've been waiting for, Trellus," he said in the most persuasive manner he could manage. "We need only fight one more battle to be free. Isn't that a cause worth fighting for?"

Trellus folded his arms across his chest.

"Fighting for, yes, but dying for?" he shook his head. "No Ithius. Quite enough of our people have died for Spartan causes. Let _King _Leonidas fight his own battles for a change..."

"But what about the Persians?" Ithius protested. "They will be even less willing to grant our freedom than the Spartans have been. At least this way there's a chance for..."

Trellus held up his hand, stalling Ithius' argument in its tracks.

"What difference does it make to a slave who is master is?" he said. "We are not all idealists like you Ithius. Better enslaved and alive than free and dead for most of us, and Thermopylae will lead us only to the same death that awaits Leonidas."

"You can't know that for certain..." Ithius began, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. There was something about the way Trellus had spoken just now, some hint that he knew more than he was telling. "...or can you?"

Trellus leaned forward over the table again. This time his voice was low and conspiratorial.

"Listen to me Ithius," he whispered. "You would do well not to follow Leonidas any further down this path he's on. If what I'm hearing coming out of the Inner City is correct, your friend has just defied the Ephors ruling to surrender to the Persians..."

"Surrender!" Ithius breathed in astonishment. "I can't believe the Spartans would ever..."

"Believe it," Trellus cut him off. "The murder of the ambassador and the riot at the gates has put them in an uncomfortable position. They offered their surrender earlier today, and the Persians accepted. They departed a couple of hours ago to carry news of the surrender back to Xerxes."

"And Leonidas?" Ithius asked, already suspecting how his old friend would have taken the news.

"He refused to accept the surrender," Trellus said, and Ithius could only nod in reply. That sounded exactly like Leonidas, the stiff necked fool.

"Rumour is, he's preparing to march by tomorrow, but with only his own personal bodyguard to attend him," Trellus continued. "The Ephors are about to declare an edict stripping him of his titles and responsibilities as a King of Sparta. Even if we were to march to his aid, he would never have the authority to free us, were any of us even to survive."

Ithius let out a long, low breath. As news went, he could not have imagined worse. Everything was slowly coming unraveled. First there had been the murder, then the riots, and now this. He was more convinced now than he had ever been before that there was some other force at work here, some third party doing their utmost to ensure that war took place. Everything had been too perfectly orchestrated, as if they were simple dominoes being lined up only to be knocked down. He looked up at Trellus from beneath lowered eyebrows.

"The gates to the Inner City have been sealed since the riot," he said thoughtfully. "No one in or out. How is it then, that you of all people, know the inner most goings on of the Council of Ephors?"

Trellus was about to speak when a man's hand fell on his shoulder, causing him to fall silent. The hand bore a signet ring decorated with a charging bull, and Ithius suddenly felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Because I told him," said a voice that was all too familiar. It was clear, strong and smooth, a voice that spoke with a life time's worth of simple, practiced authority.

It was the voice of a King.

"Demosthenes!" Ithius hissed, beginning to rise from the table and reach for his sword. It was Demosthenes' men that had put down the riot at the gates so savagely, and driven Ithius into hiding. They had been hunting him all day, and he did not plan on being taken so easily now; not with Leonidas and the chance at freedom for so many of his people still depending on him.

"You told him I was coming!?" he said incredulously toward Trellus. "You gave me up to them?"

"King Demosthenes came to me earlier today," Trellus said, giving Ithius an imploring look. "You should listen to what he has to say."

"He butchered our people!" Ithius all but shouted, as memories of the riot and the Spartans' brutal response filled his mind. Demosthenes only rolled his eyes.

"Oh, do be seated Ithius," he said, his voice irritated and scolding. "Yes, my people put down a riot - that you yourself just admitted your people started I might add - and just in case you've forgotten, one of my duties as King is to keep the peace within Sparta herself. My men were doing their duty, as they have always done."

Slowly, he slid down into the seat beside Trellus.

"Sit," he instructed, glancing meaningfully at the crowd of people around them. Ithius followed his gaze and, for the first time, noticed a number of men around the table relax slightly at Demosthenes' glance. So he and Drogo were surrounded then. The question was by who? Trellus' men, or Demosthenes'? From the way Demosthenes had just commanded them to stand at ease, and based on the precise way in which they were dispersed throughout the crowded tavern, most likely covering all angles of escape, he imagined they were the King's troops. He cursed mentally for having been so easily snared.

With no other course of action immediately presenting itself, Ithius began to sink slowly back into his seat, eyes still narrowed in suspicion.

"That's much better," Demosthenes said, fixing Ithius with that even, confident stare he had always managed so well before. "Now, you've led me and my men a merry chase today Ithius. Were the situation less dire, I would happily have had you strung up from the city walls the moment you set foot in here as punishment for your crimes against Sparta."

"Everything I am doing is to help..." Ithius began, Demosthenes held up a hand to silence him.

"Fortunately for you though," he said, continuing on as if Ithius had never spoken "I have not come here to arrest you."

"Then why have you come here?" Ithius replied cautiously. Everything about this felt wrong to him. Demosthenes was a soldier, a general. He was never usually this cagey, and that fact alone was enough to churn Ithius' stomach with worry.

"I've been instructed to pass a message to you." Demosthenes said simply.

"What kind of message?"

Demosthenes gave a brief shrug.

"I say message, but really, it's more of an offer," he said. "The Ephors are well aware of Leonidas' dealings with you, and are prepared to counter his bargain."

Ithius shook his head.

"Not interested," he said and began to rise from his seat again.

"For Artemis' sake Ithius, would you just hear the man out!" Trellus said, his tone becoming exasperated. "I know he's a Spartan prig, but you may be surprised by what he has to say."

Ithius glanced at Drogo next to him. He seemed to be waiting patiently for Ithius' decision, but he knew Drogo well enough to know Demosthenes had piqued his interest. If he left now, without hearing out the alternate offer from the Ephors, it would look like he was being unreasonable, and showing more loyalty to Leonidas than to his own people. In the end, he could stand to lose what little support he had managed to gain so far.

Slowly he sat for the third time.

"Go on then," he said. "I'm listening."

"Leonidas' offer was freedom for any Helot who agreed to fight with him at Thermopylae, was it not?"

Ithius nodded.

"The Ephors are prepared to go one better," Demosthenes said, and leaned back in his seat, fixing Ithius with a steady measuring look as he did so. Ithius matched it.

"And their offer would be what exactly?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. He did not like the direction this conversation was headed.

"Freedom for any and all Helots who request it," Demosthenes said evenly. "They need only attend an officiating ceremony on the mustering fields tomorrow at first light so that a formal decree can be made. I'm sure you remember the one."

Ithius did indeed. He, Trellus, Drogo, Soriacles and some two thousand other Helots had all attended a similar ceremony just over a year ago to be granted their own freedom as reward for their deeds at Marathon. Then it had been Leonidas presiding over the ceremony, and Ithius felt a twinge of guilt at the memory of him. They had long been friends, but this offer, if it was indeed genuine, was far in excess of anything Leonidas had been able to promise him. He frowned at Demosthenes doubtfully.

"It _is_ an interesting offer," he said. "Generous to a fault even. Too generous, perhaps."

He cocked his head slightly.

"What's the catch?"

Demosthenes' face could have been carved of stone for all the emotion it displayed.

"You must swear, here and now, that you will not aid Leonidas at Thermopylae, either by yourself or with others."

Ithius felt as if someone had just kicked his legs out from under him. He took a deep swallow, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You... uh..." he began, his voice rasping hard in his throat. He coughed and started again. "You do realise what it is you are asking me to do?"

Demosthenes nodded gravely.

"I do," he said.

"And if I were to refuse this offer, and take any who would follow me to aid my friend in defending our homes..."

"Then the offer would be withdrawn," Demothenes replied. "The Ephors do not wish to see the peace negotiations with the Persians disrupted by anyone, including Leonidas. If he is aided by any from Sparta beyond his own soldiers, the negotiations will be damaged beyond even the Ephors' ability to repair."

"Peace negotiations?" Drogo gave a dry laugh. "That has to be the most colourful way to describe surrender I think I've ever heard!"

Demosthenes stiffened at that and shot Ithius' companion a hard stare. Ithius smiled slightly. Drogo had clearly managed to touch a nerve.

"Think about it Ithius!" Trellus spoke up again. "Any of our people who want it, free! And we don't even have to risk our lives to do it! At the very least, that has to be worth _some_ consideration."

"You're right," Ithius nodded in agreement. "It sounds perfect. We don't have to risk our lives at all."

He fixed Trellus with a sharp glare.

"We just have to sacrifice someone else's."

"You don't know that..." Trellus began, but Ithius cut him off immediately.

"Yes I do," he said, and gave Demosthenes a sharp eyed glare. "That's why the Ephors are making the offer isn't it? Without our numbers, they know Leonidas can never hope to hold the Hot Gates, and should the 'peace negotiations' break down anyway, they can at least relax from worrying about the Helots trying to overthrow the city while you march the Spartan army to war."

"I believe that would be the plan, yes." Demosthenes replied.

Ithius could feel the bile rising in his throat. How could they so blithely send Leonidas to his doom? He had spent his entire life working to protect Sparta, to keep it safe from any who would harm it, and now they were preparing to throw him to the wolves. And all for what? So that they could buy themselves more time? To smooth over relations with a kingdom that sought nothing but to trample all of Greece beneath its conquering feet?

"If they believe the surrender will not hold, then why not throw their lot in with Leonidas?" he demanded angrily. "His plan is sound. With enough men, the pass could easily be held."

"Because it will not end at Thermopylae!" Demosthenes said sharply. "Because, at best, Leonidas can only hope to delay Xerxes' hordes, and at worst he will anger them to the point of such fury that they will scour all of Sparta from the face of the world before they are done!"

"And you honestly believe all of that?" Ithius replied.

"I am a Spartan soldier!" Demosthenes snapped back. "I have my duties, and those duties include the protection of this city, and its people, both mine and yours, by any means necessary! As it happens though, and since you ask, yes, I do believe it. Sparta alone cannot stand against such a foe as Xerxes."

"And you think freeing us will make us fight for you?" Ithius said.

Demosthenes shook his head.

"I _think_ it will make it your fight as well as ours," he said and straightened in his seat, his expression becoming flat and unreadable again. "Now, enough discussion. The offer has been made, and time is something of a factor here. What is your decision?"

Ithius glanced around the table. From all around, what felt like a hundred pairs of eyes were drilling viciously into him. Trellus was leaning forward eagerly and even Drogo, normally so cool and unflappable, was sitting pensively, awaiting his answer. He turned his gaze out over the tavern floor, staring at the hundred or more Helots who filled the room. Some were seated and drinking heavily while they discussed the day's events. Others stood and laughed, singing bawdy songs or telling off colour jokes as they attempted to put memories of the riot and blood shed behind them. Above all else though, one and all, they were still slaves, bound to live and die at the whim of another. Now here he was, faced with that very same decision. Freedom or slavery, defiance or surrender, life or death.

His mouth felt like week old parchment, and his teeth ground tightly together in abject frustration. How could he do it? How could he choose for them? Did it not defeat the very purpose of what he wanted to achieve in the first place? And that was the truth of it, was it not? It was not his place to make such a decision at all, and that realisation finally, and somewhat ironically, made his choice for him.

He gave another pained swallow and clambered to his feet, extending his hand toward Demosthenes. The Spartan King rose, and clasped it tightly in his own.

"So we have a deal then?" he said, but his voice carried no hint of satisfaction.

Ithius nodded, feeling the strength drain out of him, his shoulders sagging in complete defeat. He had never felt so powerless in his entire life.

"We have a deal," he said softly.

* * *

The temple of Ares loomed bleakly against the mountain side as Callisto's horse clattered over the paved road that ran up to its doors. It's full silhouette was hard to make out in the darkness, and the black marble walls seemed to soak up the silver sheen of light that the stars above had draped over the city, causing her to have to squint to make it out at all.

Leonidas rode at her side, the night breeze tugging insistently at the thick red cloak he wore, his jaw set and determined as they reined their horses in outside the heavy iron banded doors that led inside. Callisto shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. She had not wanted to admit it to herself, but of all the places in the city she had hoped she would not end up visiting, the temple of Ares had to rank as number one.

"You seem uneasy," Leonidas said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he dismounted from his horse. "That doesn't seem like you."

Callisto craned her neck back to look up toward the temple's roof, and was greeted by the sight of monolithic marble ramparts staring starkly back at her. For a brief moment she thought she saw a familiar figure standing and staring down at her out of the corner of her vision. It had looked like a man, tall and broad shouldered with dark shoulder length hair and a neatly trimmed beard, but when she turned her head to take a better look, her eyes only met the empty night sky.

"I suppose you could say that Ares and I aren't exactly on the best of speaking terms," she replied, still frowning up at the ramparts as she began to clamber down from her mount.

Leonidas chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?" Callisto said, finally wrenching her eyes away from the roof of the temple to furnish him with a look of piercing annoyance.

"You talk about the God of War as if you are on first name terms with him. That's what."

Callisto smiled devilishly at him.

"And aren't you?" she smirked. "You _are_ a King of Sparta after all."

Leonidas expression shifted slightly, his brow, previously raised in amusement, now slowly furrowing in confusion.

"I come to the temple when I am able," he shrugged. "I make offerings, sacrifices and the like. To tell you the truth, I've been less devout since Marathon. A lot of Spartans have been. Many of our people took the Athenians having to come to our aid as a sign that Ares had abandoned us in favour of another. Demosthenes took it the worst of all. I don't think he's set foot in the temple since. I was honestly surprised when the Oracle agreed to see me. I hadn't attended a temple service in months and I doubted Ares would provide her with a vision on my behalf."

"Well," Callisto began, stretching her arms tiredly above her head in the cool evening air until her spine popped loudly, "you know the gods. As fickle and easily bored as toddlers playing with toys most of the time."

She glanced up toward the roof again, but there was still no sign of the man who had been watching them moments before.

"Maybe Ares' attention was elsewhere. I wouldn't put it past him to be honest. He does like to play favourites."

She turned her gaze back to Leonidas, suddenly curious.

"If you're so non-devout, why did you bring me here anyway? Do you seriously think some moldy, oldndoped up prophet of a has-been war god is going to be able to tell you what's actually going on in this city?"

Leonidas cocked an eyebrow at her.

"That moldy old prophet told me to come and find you didn't she?" he said. Callisto shrugged.

"Lucky guess?" she offered, and Leonidas snorted.

"Very lucky," he said, then gestured toward the temple. "Now come on. Times wasting and I need to know just why it is she told me to find you."

"So you can decide whether or not to trust me?" Callisto said snidely as they began to walk toward the temple doors.

Leonidas glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I trust you..." he began, then frowned. "...I think."

"You're vote of confidence is giving me such a warm fuzzy feeling inside," Callisto jeered sarcastically. "You wouldn't happen to have a tissue handy would you? I think I'm going to cry."

Leonidas let out a long suffering sigh.

"You've been trying to help," he said, trying to ignore her mockery. "I see that now, though I'm still not entirely sure as to why. The Oracle told me you were coming here and that the fate of Sparta lay in your hands, but since you arrived, everything has been spinning out of control, and now you're telling me its because of these Followers in Helot town. I want to know what's really going on, why you're even here, and I want her to tell me."

They stepped up to the doors, and Leonidas fell silent for a moment as he paused to heave against the cold iron. The huge doors swung open with the loud, complaining groan of badly oiled hinges, revealing the cold temple chamber beyond. Like the temple of Artemis, the doors opened into a receiving room, but unlike the temple of Artemis, this receiving room had not been defiled by a bunch of crazy, over zealous nut jobs. The room was decorated in the style one would expect of a war god. Ornamental weapons and armour coated every wall, and huge blood red drapes hung luxuriantly overhead.

Callisto let out a sigh as she followed Leonidas inside. Why was it that no matter what she did in life, she always seemed to end up going around and around in circles, bargaining her life away in the service of gods and monsters. Now, here she was doing it again, walking into a den of Ares with Tartarus only knows what lying in store for her.

She sighed. She knew the answer of course. She always did.

"Elysium," she muttered to herself, and Leonidas threw a glance back over his shoulder at her.

"What was that?" he said.

She had not realised she had spoken aloud.

"Nothing," she covered quickly. This whole situation in Sparta was complicated enough already, without having to explain in minutest detail the events that had brought her here.

They rounded a corner in the corridor they had been following and emerged into the temple's main chamber. It was a far grander affair than Callisto had seen at the temple of Artemis. There was no second storey here; just a huge, cavernous room, with thick marble pillars towering up all about them to support an equally huge vaulted ceiling above. Between the pillars hung more of the blood red drapes she had seen earlier, each one billowing in the slight breeze that gusted through the room from the various side passages located around its edge, the same breeze set the dim orange light from the slowly guttering wall sconces dancing across the omnipresent cool black marble.

The room was quiet now, and almost completely empty save for a distant indistinct figure kneeling before an altar at the opposite end of the room to them. The altar itself was cast of the same dark iron that had been used to forge the door, and was worked across with scenes of carnage and destruction. Callisto felt her lips twitch in a slight smile. She almost felt at home here.

As they walked across the chamber, the person kneeling at the altar's silhouette gradually began to resolve itself against the lines of shadow and firelight that stretched across the chamber. Callisto felt her chest tighten, and she could not decide if it was nervousness or anticipation she was feeling.

The figure was a woman with long, raven hair, and a tall, panther like physique apparent even while she was kneeling. She wore a supple leather breast plate, worked with heavy bronze decoration across the bodice, and stretching up over one shoulder to a copper clasp that fastened the breast plate to a collar around the woman's neck. Beneath the breastplate, she wore a simple crimson shift, the same shade as the many drapes throughout the temple, and it hung down to her ankles in long divided skirts to allow for easier movement. A well kept but simple sword rested by her side, along with a round leather hide buckler that had shortened straps which could be fastened around the forearm.

"Finally," The woman said, her voice smooth, sensual and dripping with self confidence. "If you'd taken any longer, I might have actually fallen asleep."

Callisto squared her shoulders and folded her arms across her chest, her fingers drumming impatiently in the crook of her arm. She had not liked the woman's tone. It had reminded her of Ares, and the war god was someone she preferred not be reminded of wherever possible.

"Our apologies," she heard Leonidas say next to her. He sounded a little surprised by what the woman had just said. "We did not realise you were expecting us."

"I would have thought _you_ would know better," said the woman without turning around. "But then, you never really took to any of this did you?" She gestured to the room around them.

Leonidas shook his head.

"I trusted in my wits and my spear," he said. "They seemed to get me by."

The woman's shoulders shook in a soft chuckle.

"You can be so dreadfully predictable Leonidas," she laughed, but strangely, there was no malice in it. "It's a wonder you've lived this long."

She reached out and took a small stick of incense from a nearby pot and held it in the flame of an equally small candle atop the altar until it caught light, the tip glowing softly against the shadows as thin trails of scented smoke drifted lazily on the air.

Callisto sniffed and behind the scent of incense, she could detect another smell. It was vaguely familiar, but the traces of it were so faint she could not entirely place it.

"So," the woman continued, placing the incense in a pot full of sand so that it stood straight upright. "What is it that brings you both here? I often know the timing of events but not the how or the why. It can be most infuriating to tell you the truth."

"We've come seeking information," Leonidas replied stiffly. "There is much amiss in this city. An ambassador stands murdered, and the Ephors prepare themselves to surrender our homes while I prepare to fight for them."

"A knotty problem indeed," the woman said thoughtfully, still not turning around. "And I take it you have come to me seeking advice on how to undo it?"

"Precisely," Leonidas nodded. "It is all too clean and tidy, too orchestrated, too obviously a setup. We would know the truth as to what is going on."

Slowly but with practiced grace, the woman rose and turned, and Callisto felt her breath catch in her throat. This lady was tall! She towered over her by a clear head, but worse than that, she looked uncomfortably like Xena. There were differences of course. Her nose was a little shorter, and her bone structure definitely finer and more delicate, but she still had those high, chiseled cheeks, and those same piercing, icy blue eyes. They lit upon her now, seeming to look straight through her and into something else beyond.

Callisto did not like it.

"Answers is it then?" said the woman, glancing at her with a strange glint in her eye. Suddenly she stepped up to Leonidas, taking one of his hands in hers and stroking the back of his palm seductively.

"You know how this works Leonidas," she purred. "Normally I would tell you there would be a price to pay for my services..."

"I will gladly pay it," Leonidas said, a little too quickly, and then gave an embarrassed cough while the woman smiled at him coyly.

"...but then I could never deny you anything, could I?" she laughed and gave Leonidas' hand an affectionate squeeze, before releasing it to fall back to his side.

Callisto could feel a disgusted sneer creeping across her face.

"Okay then," she said, with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "If you two are done pawing at each other, could we get back on track a little?"

The woman turned to regard Callisto again, that same piercing but unreadable gaze lingering longer this time.

"And which track would that be?" she said with genuine interest. "I see many paths spreading out before you Callisto, and I think you should know, most of them are not pleasant."

She glanced between the two of them.

"The answers you both seek, I sense, will only be able to help you in a limited fashion, but I am ready and able to tell you what I can. I doubt though, that you will like what I have to say."

Callisto frowned at her.

"First answer then," she said cautiously. "How do you know my name?"

The woman looked up at Leonidas, with a sly smile. Despite her height, he was still taller than her, and now stood looking down at her, an expression of vague discomfort on his face.

"An interesting first question don't you think? How _do _I know her name after all?" she grinned, stepping back from him as she did so. "I suppose you had better introduce us then Leonidas. I already know her of course, it would be difficult not to, but I think it might be a little easier for the both of us if she knew me as well."

"Callisto," Leonidas said softly, "This is Miranda."

The woman smiled again, taking one of Leonidas' hands in her own, in a manner that spoke to Callisto of playfulness but also challenge. Did this woman really think she was some kind of rival for Leonidas' affections? If so, she was very wrong.

"She's an old _friend _ of mine," Leonidas continued, placing particular emphasis on the word _friend_ "and she also just happens to be the person who we came here to see."

"This man-eater is the Oracle!?" Callisto blurted out, completely unable to hide her surprise.

"Does it really astonish you so much?" Miranda said quizzically.

Callisto fixed her with a hard stare.

"Yes, actually," she said.

The other woman's grin widened revealing rows of perfect, too white teeth.

"And you were expecting... what, exactly?" she chuckled happily to herself.

"Something other than you," Callisto replied and Miranda's chuckle quickly gave way to a mocking laugh.

"I had expected a little more shrewdness from you Callisto. Did you honestly think that an Oracle of the God of War would be some willowy wisp of a girl, barely out of her teens?" she managed to say, once her laughter had subsided. "Or perhaps you thought I would be some hideous half senile crone? One that would cackle madly and spout nonsense prophecies while throwing small animals into boiling oil?"

"That last one doesn't actually sound too far from the truth," Callisto admitted, then flashed one of her own impish grins.

"I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised though," she said. "I did try to kill an Oracle once, and she was neither of those things either."

Miranda's face straightened for a moment, and she eyed Callisto up and down, as if truly seeing her for the first time. Suddenly she smiled again, but this time it carried no amusement behind it. Instead it was only sharp and cutting.

"This one's dangerous, Leonidas," she said. "She has skill, wit and more than a little cunning to boot, and all of that's a vicious combination whichever way you slice it."

Leonidas nodded.

"Tell me something I don't already know," he said, giving Callisto a sideways glance.

Miranda's own look was seemingly flat and unemotional, but a mischievous twinkle flashed briefly in her eyes.

"I may just do that," she said, then suddenly, she smiled warmly, all trace of the cutting precise tone leaving her voice. Instead, she now sounded like the perfect hostess; all relaxed confidence and easy charm.

"But please," she said, "Where are my manners. Will you not accompany me to my chambers. You've both doubtless had a busy day, and the answers you seek will not be short in being given."

With that, she turned, sweeping the hide buckler and sword up as she stepped around the altar and started for a door toward the rear of the chamber.

Callisto glanced questioningly at Leonidas who only shrugged and began to follow of her.

"You really listened to this woman?" she said, archly.

"I've known Miranda since I was five," Leonidas said simply. "We were even betrothed at one point. She's the firstborn daughter of an old Spartan noble house. Not as prestigious as the Agiad line but still dating back to the city's first founding. When she turned ten, the previous Oracle had a foretelling that Miranda would be her successor. Our betrothal was canceled, and she entered into service of the temple of Ares instead," he gave a slight sigh. "Such is life."

Callisto rolled her eyes.

"A touching story Leonidas," she said and he turned to look at her, one eyebrow cocked.

"No, really it is," she smiled playfully at him, "Like one of Homer's tragedies. Almost makes me want to weep..."

Leonidas gave a dry snort of amusement.

"...But," she continued, raising a finger and wagging it in a scolding manner, "none of it is a good enough reason to actually trust her."

"She's an Oracle of Ares..." Leonidas began.

"Exactly," Callisto interjected.

"... and it's not uncommon for the Kings or the Ephors to sit in consultation with her," Leonidas continued smoothly, as if she had never spoken. "I saw no reason not to do so this time."

"Oooh! I've got a good reason!" Callisto answered with a wicked grin. "Care to hear what it is?"

Leonidas sighed.

"Do I really have a choice?" he said.

"None at all," Callisto replied before barreling on. "I mean, there's the obvious fact that she's clearly not right in the head."

"And you are?" Leonidas replied.

Callisto did not answer immediately. Instead she turned her gaze to the woman's back as they moved. How could she get this across to Leonidas? This woman was an Oracle of Ares! If she was anything like the god to whom she paid lip service, it meant she would have to be watched closely. Ares may have been a strong and brutal god, but he was also cruel and deceitful. Hardly a combination that she found inspiring of trust.

"I just don't like this is all," she pouted. "Ares is not a god you should be placing your faith for the future in."

Leonidas paused for a moment and eyed her levelly.

"I'm not," he said simply. "I'm placing it in you."

Callisto had to fight to keep her mouth from falling open in complete surprise. Had he really just said what she thought he had said? Before she could ask, he had turned away and was speaking again.

"What's all this about anyway?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Callisto replied.

"This whole problem you have with Ares," Leonidas said.

Ahead of them, the Oracle had reached a pair of double doors that lead into an antechamber beyond. The Oracle reached out and pushed them open before disappearing into the gloomy chamber just beyond.

"Why do you have such a hard time listening to me?" Callisto replied angrily in an attempt to deflect the question.

"I _am_ listening to you," Leonidas protested with a low sigh. "That's why we're here in the first place. We need some kind of answers as to everything that's going on, and right now, this instant, she's the one that has them."

He motioned toward Miranda as they stepped through the double doors. She had moved across the chamber to a large stone hearth in which a bright hot fire burned fiercely, sending shadows prancing across the walls all about them.

A single stone slab, just long enough for a single person to lie upon, stood mute and ominous nearby. The sight of the slab unnerved Callisto, conjuring memories of Marsus and the other Followers, spread out on cold stone, eyes closed and fluttering in dark and cruel dreams. As she stepped inside, she could feel a familiar sulfuric scent assail her nostrils, as Miranda hefted a heavy looking vat of strange, glowing yellow fluid over the fire burning in the hearth.

"Looks like answers aren't all she has!" Callisto snapped, reaching back over her shoulder for her sword and tugging it free of its scabbard with a sibilant hiss that echoed loudly in the otherwise deathly silence of the chamber.

"What are you doing!?" She heard Leonidas gasp, but before he could stop her, she was across the chamber in two steps, the blade of her weapon sweeping around to rest softly but purposefully against the side of Miranda's throat. The Oracle shivered as she felt the cold steel kiss her skin, and Callisto smiled.

"Awww..." she cooed as if she were speaking to an infant. "What's the matter? Didn't see this one coming?"

"Surprisingly, no," Miranda admitted. "But then, I suppose I should have expected it."

"Callisto!" she heard Leonidas snap from behind her, and suddenly she felt the point of a sword press against her back.

"Drop your weapon," he commanded.

"But she can't be trusted!" Callisto protested, gesturing with her head toward the nearby hearth. "That stuff in the vat over there that stinks like month old game meat; it's the same thing I saw the Followers using to help them worship Cronus!"

"This Cronus business again," Leonidas began, but Callisto cut him off sharply.

"Leonidas, I'm telling you, we don't need answers from her! I already figured this whole thing out! The Followers are the ones behind everything that's happened and she's in league with them! Cronus wants to be free, and the only way he can do it is if enough people die!"

She breathed deeply.

"I can't let it happen Leonidas," she continued. "I can't let him get free, not if I'm going to live up to my deal!"

The moment she had said it, she knew it had been a mistake and she gave a mental curse. Leonidas' eyes narrowed.

"What deal?" he said, his voice suddenly harder than steel.

Callisto opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"Why don't you tell him Callisto?" Miranda said softly. "I think he deserves the truth, don't you?"

"What deal?" Leonidas repeated, louder this time. "What are you both talking about?"

Callisto was still speechless. How could she have been so stupid! She really had to learn to think before opening her mouth and just blurting out the first thing that came into her head. She could not remember the last time it had gone well for her.

Miranda eyed her steadily down the length of the sword that still rested lightly against her neck, then finally gave a long sigh and spoke in her place.

"The deal that brought her back Leonidas," she said. "The deal that got her out of an eternity being tortured in Tartarus where she belongs. The deal that gave her her life back again."

"You were dead?" Leonidas said incredulously.

Callisto gave something akin to an embarrassed shrug.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" she said, doing her best to sound nonchalant "It's not like its the first time it's happened to me."

"For most people once is quite enough!" Leonidas countered. He took a deep breath, as if her were trying to muster his patience.

"How many times exactly did you die?" he asked.

Callisto tapped a long finger against her lips in mock thoughtfulness.

"Twice..." she began, then paused to think about it. "Maybe three... no... twice. Definitely twice. You could count the time I was dropped into lava, but I was immortal then, so you can't really class that as dying. It just hurt like hell."

Leonidas' eyes narrowed.

"But of course," he said sarcastically. "So how did you die the other two times if I may be so bold as to ask? Boiled in oil? Fell from a cliff maybe?"

"Suffocated in quicksand..." Callisto answered and Leonidas snorted ruefully.

"Of course," he said sarcastically. "How stupid of me. I should have guessed. You would've had to be immortal. It couldn't possibly make sense any other way now could it."

"...and stabbed in the gut," Callisto finished smartly as if he had never even spoken.

"Now that one I can imagine," Leonidas all but sneered in response. "At this point I'm thinking of doing it myself."

"You did ask," Callisto said, and Leonidas scrubbed a hand over his face in complete frustration, before finally letting out a long calming breath and glancing over at Miranda.

"You're telling me I should believe this nonsense?"

"It's the truth," Miranda replied, her voice low and painfully sincere. "Every last bit of it."

"Oh I get it!" Callisto sneered. "I tell you an ancient primordial Titan is rising up from Tartarus, and you don't believe me, but she tells you I came back from the dead, and suddenly you're all ears."

"It's why she's here, Leonidas," Miranda said softly. "To fulfill the bargain she made."

"That just makes it worse!" Leonidas snapped at her before turning a hard stare back on Callisto. "So agreeing to come here and help us, help me even; there was some ulterior motive behind all of that? Some deal you made with... who exactly?"

There was so much hurt in his voice, so much pain and betrayal. Callisto sniffed slightly, feeling a dull ache in the back of her throat, as she opened her mouth to speak again. This was not how she had expected things to unravel.

"With Hades," she said slowly, doing her best to choose her words carefully as she spoke. Leonidas continued to stare at her steadily.

"What kind of bargain was it?" he said.

"Another chance at life, and a second judgment when I die," Callisto said. "Another shot at Elysium if I would just be a champion for the gods."

Leonidas stared at her blankly.

"A champion?"

"Yes."

"You?"

"Yes."

"And where did Sparta figure into this?" Leonidas said, his voice thin and tight. "Was your helping us part of the bargain?"

"I..." Callisto began, her own frustration beginning to grow inside her at his questions, that familiar feeling of anger bubbling cruelly just below the surface. What did he want from her? What had he seriously thought she was doing here? Was he really so stupid as to think she was some pure virtuous maiden, here to do good for the simple sake of it? If that was the case, then he had the wrong warrior woman.

"I don't know," she finished, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"And after you kept something like this from me, you still think I should trust you?"

Callisto felt her anger snap inside her.

"What did you expect!?" she sneered at him. "You've heard the stories about me! You know who I am! Let me tell you what I am, let me tell you what I've done! I'm a murderer, Leonidas, a butcher! I've killed scores of innocent people, I've listened to their screams and I've felt their warm blood on my hands! Do you know why I did it? Because it felt good! A little lesson for you Leonidas. If someone like me decides to help you, its because they are helping themselves first!"

"So that's what this was all about then?" Leonidas replied, his voice still tinged with bitterness and betrayal. "Your coming here, your agreeing to help me with the Persians; it was all for your own benefit? You were just using our plight to earn yourself some second run at paradise?"

"I don't know anymore!" Callisto snapped back at him. She had not expected to say it, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised it was the truth. "I thought it was! I thought it would be what the gods wanted of me, but then... then I..."

She threw up her hands in exasperation and let out a cry of anger.

"It all got so complicated, so twisted up and turned around that now I can hardly remember which way is up or down anymore,"

Suddenly and without warning, she gripped the hilt of her sword tighter, her knuckles whitening as she pointed an accusatory finger toward Miranda.

"You do though, don't you!" she hissed. "You, and that stuff over there, giving you a way talk to Cronus. You know exactly what's going on."

Miranda stared coolly back at her.

"Both more and less than you might think," she answered cryptically.

"Wait a minute," Leonidas frowned at her. "Are you telling me she's right? That disgusting stuff you're boiling over there is a way to communicate with this Cronus she keeps talking about?"

"After a fashion," Miranda nodded. "Only I'm not in communion with Cronus. That part she got wrong."

"Ha!" Callisto barked out a mocking laugh. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"I assure you, it's the truth," Miranda said, her voice nothing but earnest, "That 'stuff', as you call it, is the Pneuma."

"The what-wa?" Callisto said.

"The Pneuma," the other woman repeated, eyeing the blade of Callisto's sword as she did so. "It is the intermediary used by all Oracles. In its purest form, the liquid you have seen in the vat, it is a powerful hallucinogen, capable of causing debilitating visions in those who ingest it, and in large enough doses, it can even be fatal..."

"Sounds delightful," Callisto muttered, but Miranda ignored her.

"...In it's gaseous state, the hallucinations are more controlled, less debilitating," the Oracle explained. "They are more akin to dreams that hallucinations in all honesty..."

"And dreams are the fine line between the real world and the underworld," Callisto said, remembering something she had been told long ago, by Ares as it just so happened.

"Between _all_ worlds," Miranda replied knowingly. "Even the realms atop Olympus itself."

"A window to the gods," Leonidas breathed.

"An apt description," Miranda nodded.

Callisto relaxed her grip slightly, drawing the sword back from the other woman's throat but still not re-sheathing it. What this Oracle was saying did indeed sound perfectly reasonable. Could it be she actually _was_ telling the truth? She supposed it was possible, but it still left one question unanswered.

"So how did the Followers come by it then?" She said, "and why would they need it in the first place?"

"Where they found it, I honestly don't know," Miranda said with a shrug. "This is the first time I have heard of anyone but an Oracle using the Pneuma. We regulate its supply quite strictly. There is an underground spring beneath these mountains. Easy access to it is why the temple was built here in the first place."

"Could there be other sources of it?" Leonidas asked.

"Finally!" Callisto all but shouted with relief. "You're starting to believe me!"

"I'm starting to entertain the possibility that you might be right," Leonidas replied. "When you hear that someone you know has been raised from the dead multiple times and has even struck a deal with the Lord of the Underworld and the King of the Gods, suddenly believing that some ancient force of nature is trying to return to the world by causing mass genocide doesn't seem so far fetched."

"In answer to your question, there may very well be," Miranda spoke up. "The underground springs stretch for miles, and the temple has never been able to find every possible outlet for them. Those we have found have been sealed off to prevent others abusing the Pneuma."

"So why would they need it?" Callisto asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Miranda replied. "Communion with their god of course. Or doubtless something to that effect."

"So you believe in this Cronus-rising-from-underworld stuff as well then?" Leonidas said, still sounding skeptical.

Miranda shook her head at him.

"It's not a matter of belief, Leonidas," she said. "I've been _told _this is what's happening."

Suddenly her eyes gained a far away look, and her voice took on a cold distant quality, as if she were speaking to them over some great dark abyss.

"The deaths of gods ring with terrible pealing strikes across all the firmament and from deep within Tartarus, an old, corpse god is stirred. He reaches out into the world through agents both familiar and terrible, his cruel sickle standing poised to harvest the Olympian gods like chaff from a wheat field. Seats sit unoccupied upon Olympus, and the Styx begins to run dry, even while the boatman ceaselessly plies his trade. At the edges of civilisation, mighty armies gather, ready to unify or destroy in the name of a king who would style himself a god, and the dead Lord of the Harvest hungers for the lost souls that will set him free."

She sagged slightly for a moment and shot Callisto a weary look. Whatever was happening to her, it was taking a lot out of her.

"All of this sounding familiar so far?" Miranda asked in a voice that was once more her own. The question was rhetorical and before Callisto could reply, the Oracle was speaking again, her tone back to the distant emotionless one of before.

"The whirlwind gale of chaos and destruction will bow cities and strike fear in the hearts of Gods, and before it is past, there shall come a woman, her footsteps as the ringing of doom to those around her. Before all is done, a dead tide will trail in her wake, the very Earth will quake at her passing and the skies shall be riven in fire! The Soul, the Strength and the Faith will know her Wrath and vengeance shall be served, again and again, until blood runs cold and clotted. In the end, it will be her hate that guides her, and her anger and her pain. All will lead to the journey's end, to the bargain's fulfillment one way or the other, and to the desolation or salvation of all of Greece."

Miranda sagged again, this time with even greater weariness, and for a moment it looked as if she might actually collapse, but suddenly, Leonidas was at her side, his arm wrapped tightly beneath her shoulders as he helped her to a seat upon the nearby stone slab.

"Well," Callisto said, feeling somewhat less than satisfied. "That was nice and cryptic. Care to explain what it actually means?"

Miranda shot her a dark look and Callisto was almost taken aback by how haggard she suddenly appeared. Her lips had become dry and cracked, and large dark rings had appeared, seemingly from nowhere beneath her eyes.

"How am I supposed to know?" she said, a hint of frustration edging her voice, "I'm just a messenger, a tool to be used and discarded once my task is done."

She fixed Callisto with a bitter stare.

"Much like yourself as a matter of fact," she said.

Callisto's jaw tightened at that.

"I am no one's tool!" she snarled from between gritted teeth.

"A bitch for hire then?" Miranda shot back, the bitterness stronger this time. "Here to fulfill a bargain? A contract? You make me sick! Good people trust you, and how do reward them? With death and loss? Is that all you know how to do? Is that really your only skill?"

"Don't you ever think you know me!" Callisto snapped back at her as she felt her own anger take hold, its teeth biting and grinding like gears in the mill. Where had this sudden attack come from? She had not expected such hostility from the other woman, and for it to come so completely out of the blue had put her on the back foot.

"What do you know about losing things?" she continued. "A poor little rich girl snatched away from her mummy and daddy before she could marry her strapping Spartan King? That's not loss, Miranda! That's inconvenience!"

Miranda was opening her mouth to speak again when Leonidas cut in.

"ENOUGH! THE PAIR OF YOU!" he barked sharply, and Miranda's mouth neatly snapped shut, but she still glared daggers at Callisto.

For her part, Callisto just folded her arms and glared right back at her.

"Now," Leonidas said, his voice a little quieter this time, but no less firm as he turned to face Miranda, "How does all of this factor into helping me with the Persians?"

Miranda's expression changed immediately from a look of anger, to one of complete sadness.

"It doesn't," she said simply.

Leonidas frowned.

"But you told me to go and find her," he said in confusion, gesturing toward Callisto as he did so. "You told me that she was coming here to stop the Persians; that she would be the savior of Sparta..."

Miranda stared at him levelly, and slowly, a look of dawning realistation began to spread across Leonidas' face.

"...and you never mentioned Persians, did you?" He said. It sounded like a question, but it was clear he did not need an answer.

Miranda gave a slight nod anyway.

"But then how am I supposed to..." Leonidas began, but even as he started to speak, it was obvious he was not going to finish. The protest died, half formed on his lips, and instead he nodded quietly to himself, as if making up his mind to something.

Miranda moved to his side and placed a sorrowful hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Leonidas," she began, but he stepped away from her touch, his expression turning stony and hard.

"I don't understand," Callisto said glancing between the two of them. "What's going on? How do we beat the Persians and put an end to this?"

"_We_ don't," Leonidas replied softly. "It looks like I'm doing this one on my own."

"But you'll..."

"...die?" Miranda snapped bitterly at her. "Footsteps of doom, Callisto, or weren't you paying attention? You bring death and misery to all those you meet, and now you've brought it here!"

Callisto shook her head firmly.

"No," she said. Leonidas looked at her, and suddenly she could see it there. The sadness behind his eyes that belied his stone faced expression. He took a step toward her, reaching out as if in comfort.

"Callisto, I..." he began, but she batted his hand away viciously and fixed him with an icy stare.

"I said no, Leonidas," she said. "This can't be happening. I've had enough of people around me dying, and I won't let it happen! Do you hear me? I won't let you die, just as a pawn to some half baked prophecy about me!"

She rounded on Miranda, her eyes flashing sharply.

"You made one prophecy," she snapped. "Make another. Make a better one."

Miranda only shook her head as she glanced at Leonidas.

"It doesn't work that way, and you know it," she said. "I'm just a messenger remember? I just repeat what I'm told."

An ugly sneer spread across Callisto's face. This was such a waste of time.

"Then why am I even listening to you?" she snarled and turned away from the other woman. She was tired of grubbing around in the dirt like a bug, trying desperately to figure out what it was that was wanted of her without so much as a hint to go on. It was time to talk to someone higher up the chain.

"Ares!" She shouted fiercely. "I know you're listening. You always are! What's the matter? Scared to see me again? Worried I'll barbecue you, like I did the last time we met?"

Only silence greeted her.

"The gods don't come to you just because you scream at them, Callisto" Miranda said snidely.

"They do when _I_ call for them!" Callisto snapped back, before spinning to shout up into the shadows. "Ares! You know me! You know I won't leave until I get what I want! Hiding won't get rid of me that easily!"

Still nothing. She gritted her teeth.

"ARES! Come out and face me you coward, or I swear I'll turn this temple into a pile of smoking ash before I'm done!"

The only sound was the dry crackle of the flames in the nearby hearth, and the soft bubbling of the Pneuma in the vat above. Callisto glanced at it sideways, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she turned back to face Miranda.

"You said that stuff is like a window to the gods?" she asked.

Miranda nodded.

"And what would happen if someone other than you were to use it?" Callisto continued.

Miranda only shrugged.

"I already told you. Hallucinations," she said. "Close to dreams, or some would say nightmares. The Pneuma is not gentle to the uninitiated. It forces people to face their doubts, their passions, their fears, and its in those moments of clarity that the gods speak to us."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Callisto felt something stir, and a soft note of laughter sounded at the edge of her consciousness.

"Is it dangerous?" She asked, ignoring the taunting cackle.

"Callisto," Leonidas began, "I'm not sure I like the sound of..."

She held up a hand, cutting him off mid sentence.

"Is it dangerous?" she repeated.

Miranda nodded.

"To the untrained it can be. The dose required to stand face to face with the gods is extremely potent. Not enough to be lethal, but I've known girls never come back from what they confront down there, in the dark recesses between their own thoughts."

Callisto took a deep breath. Was this what it felt like to be Xena, she wondered, throwing yourself into the fire over and over again, and all for the sake of someone else? She had always thought such altruism - such selfless goodness - foolish before, a weakness to be exploited, rather than a virtue to be extolled. Now though, she was not so sure. She had never realised how difficult it was to put yourself at risk with nothing to be gained from it, and how easy it had been to always put herself first. In the end, was all of this truly even worth the risk?

She glanced over at Leonidas and clenched her jaw, then let her gaze shift back to Miranda. The Oracle was waiting patiently for her decision.

"You'd best order me up a batch then," she said firmly. "I've got gods to speak to."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: *Phew* That was a tough one. Apologies to everyone for the lack of an update for so long, but life has been a bit crazy the last week or two, and this chapter proved extremely difficult to get right. For the longest time I just couldn't crack the dialogue and how all the plot and character movements should fit together. I think I've managed to get it now, and am pleased with the result.

I hope you all enjoy it, and hopefully the next one won't take me quite so long. Can't make any promises though.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: The Dying Light

**Chapter Fourteen: The Dying Light**

The thick wooden door creaked loudly against its scorched hinges as Pelion pushed his way into the chamber. All about him, wafts of smoke drifted hazily in the air, their bitter, acrid taste staining the back of his throat as he paused at the room's threshold to survey the tableau of carnage that had been wrought before him.

The Pneuma chamber was all but lost. Black burn marks tainted the previously pristine stone walls, the drapes that had hung all about the room were little more than a charred mess, and in places the wooden ceiling had even collapsed, its timbers scattered in irregular heaps of rubble across the chamber floor to reveal the star streaked night sky above. The thick vat that had once held the sickly yellow Pneuma, was now little more than a twisted, molten lump of metal, the Pneuma itself long having evaporated under the heat of the blazing flames. He wanted to curse at the inconvenience of it all, but several of the younger, newer initiates were already present, milling about uncertainly and making a half hearted effort to sift through and clear up some of the mess as he watched them, and it simply would not do appear so vexed in front of those new to the faith.

"Our Faith," one of the Brothers said eagerly as he looked up and noticed Pelion for the first time. Pelion gave a brief nod of acknowledgement in return. The man looked crestfallen at the lack of a true response, but Pelion just ignored him. The fire had been devastating, not only to the east wing of the temple, but to the morale of many of the younger initiates as well. Up until now they had been so strong, so sure of their cause, their purpose. Callisto had changed all that. She and Athelis had waltzed into the temple as easily as could be and wreaked destruction upon them so simply, so handily even, that it was as if they had not even been trying.

It only reaffirmed his belief that Callisto was the right choice for the role of Strength and, indeed, that Mortius' selection, sensible though it may first appear, was actually far from flawless. If she could so easily bring such chaos into their ranks, just imagine the damage she could do to their enemies!

He glanced around the worried, pallid faces surrounding him, and had to do his best to suppress a disgusted sneer. At least those assigned to the clean-up were all new Brothers and Sisters. He did not have time to be playing nursemaid to a group of fresh faced latecomers, and he would have hated to see those of genuine faith be so easily undone by something as inconsequential as this small fire. Events in Sparta were beginning to accelerate, building up momentum as if they were the first falling stones in what would later become an unstoppable avalanche, and if that simple fact alone was more than these newcomers could handle, it was probably best to know now, before those doubtlessly faithless few among them had the chance to do any real damage to the morale of the others.

No, he would not give these new Brothers and Sisters any comfort now. In the absence of the Pneuma, let this be the first real test of their steadfastness. Let their faith carry them through, and if it did not... well then he would have to see to that little problem later.

Suddenly, as another of the Brothers attempted to lift a large and particularly heavy roof beam unaided, they gave a sharp start and a cry of surprise, dropping the beam back to the ground and onto whatever had lain beneath it with a sickening crunch.

Pelion frowned.

"What is it?" he asked, finally stepping fully into the room, his curiosity piqued.

"I... I..." the man began to stammer, then swallowed hard as Pelion fixed him with an impatient glare before managing to continue. "I think it might be one of the missing Brothers, Faith of our Lord."

He swallowed again, this time sounding somewhat sickened.

"Or what's left of them," he finished.

Pelion's frown deepened as he moved carefully across the room, picking his way cautiously across the numerous piles of debris and ash until he reached the Brother's side. He looked down at the beam. It was broad and thick easily weighing at least as much as a man and had probably crushed whomever it had fallen upon.

"You, and you," he ordered, gesturing to two other nearby Followers. "Help our Brother here move this thing would you. I want to see just who it is we lost this day."

The men obliged, quickly moving to the original man's side and removing the beam with loud protesting groans of aching muscles and stiff backs. Pelion stepped closer to get a better look at what they were uncovering and was not in the least surprised to see a body. He stared impassively down at it, his expression completely blank. The charred and shrunken corpse lay among the rubble as if it had been carefully laid down there to sleep. It was scrunched up tightly in a fetal pose, much of the hair having been burned away to leave only a few heat whitened wisps, while the flesh around what once been a petulant but smiling mouth had drawn back sharply into what was now a terrible, stark toothed grin.

"Who do you think it is, Faith of our Lord?"

"Brother Marsus," Pelion replied simply. "He was the only male undergoing the purification that has as yet been unaccounted for."

It was as he had feared. Those Brothers and Sisters undergoing the purification had been too deep under the effects of the Pneuma, lost in the gaps between conscious thought where those most intimate of passions and fears dwelt. Pathetic really. They had been so lost, so utterly consumed that none of them had awoken when the fire started; not even as its fierce and hungry flames had begun to devour their flesh.

He scratched thoughtfully at the back of his scalp as a familiar itching sensation began to tickle the inside of his skull. It was a not a true itch, but something else. An early signal of approach that he had begun to recognise.

He glanced at the others around him.

"If you would all excuse me," he said softly, "I would have a moment of privacy."

The Brother next to him nodded.

"Of course, Faith of our Lord," he said. They all knew Marsus and Perites had been among the first of the Followers to join Pelion at Penthos, and aid him in rekindling the spark of their ancient order here in Sparta. Now both were dead, and to their minds, some small measure of respect was due.

One by one, the rest of the Followers turned and headed out of the chamber. Pelion caught a few soft commiserations being offered as they filed out past him, but the majority remained silent until he was left alone in the chamber. Now it was just he and Marsus' corpse.

He stood quietly for a time, regarding the body where it lay. The itching was becoming more intense now, almost painful even. He could hear it on the breeze now, wafting in from the hole in the ceiling above; a soft whispering almost inaudible to him, and he knew for a fact, completely inaudible to anyone else. Slowly but confidently, he cocked his head slightly to the side.

"_Pelion," _the low voice rasped sibilantly inside his mind. _"Do you hear me, my Faith?"_

Pelion nodded slightly.

"I do, Lord Cronus" he whispered under his breath.

"_Do not address me," _Cronus said, _"My Soul comes, and he must not know of my communion with you,"_

"But why?" Pelion asked. "Are we not both your faithful servants?"

"_I am your LORD!" _ Cronus' voice was like barbed steel being dragged across the surface of his thoughts, and Pelion had to struggle not to wince openly. _"I will not be questioned! Do you understand?"_

Pelion remained silent.

"_DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" _If a whisper could be said to have shouted, then that was how Cronus sounded now.

Pelion nodded hurriedly to himself but did not speak. He had learned his lesson.

"_Excellent, my Faith," _the voice hissed as Pelion's eyes fell upon Marsus' corpse once more._ "This one has failed you, Pelion. But more importantly, he has failed me! You must let him know how much!"_

Pelion felt his knuckles tighten furiously around the staff he clutched and he spat angrily into a nearby pile of ash.

"I know you can hear me Marsus," he sneered down at the body before him. "The dead are always listening. Is this how you show your loyalty, hmm? Is this how you prove your faith to our Lord? He is most displeased with you now. Dead you are of no further use to him! Your paltry soul was as nothing to the barrier and a sacrifice without purpose is as pointless as a life without the same! When our Lord has Returned, I will see to it that he seeks you out in the Underworld, wherever you might be, and punishes you for your failure!"

His eyes flickered left and right over the ashes that surrounded them.

"Carry my message to the others down there with you," he finished. "Let them all know how thoroughly you have angered our Lord, and what suffering awaits them when he is once again free."

"_Excellently done my Faith," _the voice in the back of his mind muttered. _"The dead must know the price for a lack of faith as much as the living."_

Pelion gave the corpse a final disdainful nudge with the toe of his shoe, rocking it slightly before turning on his heel, the end of his staff crunching in the ash as he began to make for the exit. He had gone no more than a couple of steps, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadows begin to twist and writhe unnaturally. Instinctively, he straightened slightly. How had Cronus known Mortius was coming?

"Not so alone after all it would appear," he muttered ruefully as the shadows peeled back to reveal the tall, dour Soul standing before him, as chilling and eerie as ever in his long dark robes, and carrying that same sickle bladed staff the way he always did.

"_Ah, he is finally here!" _Pelion heard Cronus hiss. _"Be cautious Pelion. He is my servant as you are, but he has ever been wayward and contrary. Perhaps some lingering scraps of his life before. Something must be done about that, yes, something must be done..."_

Cronus' voice trailed off quietly into inaudibility as if her were moving further and further way, while Mortius continued to stand perfectly still, watching Pelion closely from beneath the shaded folds of his hood. For long moments he neither said nor did anything, then slowly his head turned slightly, gazing past Pelion's shoulder to the ruined vat beyond him.

"The Pneuma supply is lost then?" he asked flatly. Pelion waved his hand dismissively.

"It's not as if we can't get more," he replied. "I have already dispatched some of the more trustworthy Brothers and Sisters to head out to the tomb and acquire us a fresh batch. The purifications will begin again as soon as they return."

"And when will it be likely to arrive?" Mortius asked.

"I should imagine by tomorrow evening or the morning of the day after," Pelion replied. "The tomb is a half days walk from the city, and the return journey will be decidedly slower, weighed down as they will be."

"Need I remind you that, should all go to plan, the numbers of our initiates will begin to climb drastically before the week is out?" Mortius replied. "The Purification ritual will have to be continuously carried out from that point on."

"_Should_ all go to plan," Pelion echoed him, placing particular emphasis on the 'should'. "I am still not entirely convinced by this plan. Your man's ability has not exactly shone these last couple of days and he has still yet to impress me. So far, Callisto has managed interfere with his efforts most handily."

"And he has adapted each time," Mortius replied.

"And for how long can we keep reacting?" Pelion said smartly. "We cannot always be on the back foot Mortius. We need to be one step ahead at all times if we are to succeed. Can your man actually put us there?"

Mortius stepped more fully into the chamber, the shadows crawling in his wake as he moved face to face with Pelion. Pelion could not help but notice the slightly stiff way in which he was moving now. His usual serpentine grace was lacking, and instead he was holding his body straighter and more rigid, as if he were in pain. Had Callisto actually succeeded in injuring him during their fight? Could it really be possible? Mortius was the most formidable fighter he had ever seen and yet...

His thoughts trailed off and he gave a mental grin. Callisto was becoming all the more interesting at every encounter.

"Are you challenging my choice for the role of Strength?" Mortius said as he stopped just short of Pelion to tower intimidatingly over him. His voice was perfectly flat, but something about the way he spoke suggested to Pelion that he had actually managed to get under the Soul's skin. Suddenly, Cronus' voice blurted out loudly in his mind and seeming to come from all sides at once, still whispered but strangely clear at the same time.

"_LIES PELION!" _It hissed, _"Lies! His choice is poor, and one I did not condone!"_ Pelion felt a trickle of sweat beginning to run down the small of his back. Was it true? Was Mortius really lying to him? But he could see no reason for Great Cronus to lie to him either. It did not really matter in either case. His Lord was listening and he had to demonstrate that he was at least as capable as Cronus' other chief lieutenant.

"Should it not be _our_ choice," he retorted smugly. "The Strength is supposed to be _our_ strong right arm after all. Were those not your exact words?"

"_Yessss, YESSSSS!" _Cronus crowed eagerly. _"Do not let him rule you my Faith! I have no need for mindless slaves! You were both born to be my avatars, instruments of my will! Until the day of my Return, you are as much my voice and my hands as he!"_

Pelion smiled pleasantly at that comment, but Mortius did not so much as flinch. Could he not hear what Cronus was saying? It would seem likely not.

"And who then would you suggest?" Mortius replied in a tone that could have frozen a peaceful summer's day.

Pelion continued to smile at him.

"Callisto is a most impressive individual..." he began, but Mortius cut him off instantly.

"I have already told you my feelings on this matter, and our Lord agrees with me!" he snapped, and for the first time, Pelion was surprised to hear a hint of annoyance in the dour figure's voice.

"_More lies!" _Cronus sneered darkly. _"But Callisto! Yessss! A fine choice Pelion! No, a perfect choice! A perfect choice indeed, not to mention an ironic one, since she has _already_ been chosen!"_

Pelion's head was beginning to throb painfully. Each time Cronus spoke, it sent slivers of pain coursing through his mind, and each time, it grew more intense than the last.

"She has been a most effective thorn in our sides," he answered to Mortius, doing his level best not to let slip the two conversations he was trying to keep up with, "always a step ahead of us, pre-empting our every move. There is so much anger in her too, so much fury and hate that our Lord could use! Imagine if she were our ally instead of our enemy..."

Mortius waved him into silence.

"She is not the one, Pelion, no matter how many times you try to present her as such. Our long term goals are not served one bit by having her under our control,"

"_Ah, but the Olympians, my Faith, the Olympians would use her!" _Cronus continued at the very edge of hearing, "_I hear her thoughts at this very moment! She thinks of me, and of them; of a king already one foot in the grave and of a paradise that awaits her should I be put down. Even now she goes to them for direction, as a weapon to be wielded so expertly against us! We must deny them her Pelion! We MUST!"_

Pelion nearly gasped as Cronus' sibilant hissing crescendoed so violently in his mind, it felt as if his head were about to explode.

"But our plans _will_ be damaged if we allow her to continue working against us!" He managed to say when he had recovered his wits enough to overcome the pounding pain between his temples. "Don't you see, Mortius! She is their agent, the one we always knew they would send against us!"

Mortius stared at him steadily.

"You think she is a tool of the Olympians?" he said.

"I do!" Pelion replied honestly. "It would make sense would it not? Callisto is one of the most feared warlords in all of Greece. She would make a fine choice to oppose us, and it surely cannot be coincidental that she keeps cropping up wherever we go, first in Penthos and now here..."

He was about to continue but Mortius had already straightened and was turning and striding back toward the clustered shadows at the far end of the room.

"Where are you going?" Pelion called after him in confusion.

"_To do what he does best," _Cronus hissed. _"To be my loyal attack dog, and end lives in my name!"_

"What you say has the ring of truth," Mortius replied thoughtfully, his voice cutting Cronus off as if he could actually hear their Lord and was interrupting him. "If Callisto is an agent of the Olympian pretenders, a pawn in their little game, then its time she was removed from the board."

"_Do not let this happen, my Faith!" _Cronus whispered, his tone suddenly desperate. _"She has uses the Olympians have never even dreamed of. I would have her at my side come the day of my Return."_

Pelion nodded, half to himself and half to Cronus as his mind raced to come up with some way to keep Mortius from leaving.

"But we have no idea where she is!" he protested finally. "She could be anywhere in the city by now. She could have even fled! She made it here, it certainly wouldn't be a challenge for her to escape Sparta altogether."

"I already know her location," Mortius replied steadily. "I have been watching her movements, and have been kept informed as to her status by a third party."

"Then where is she?" Pelion said, feeling confused. Mortius had been in Sparta less than a month, and already he seemed to be well informed of the comings and goings of anyone worth mentioning. But Callisto was not a local, and few in the city even knew what she looked like. How then was it, that he could so easily know of her whereabouts and so accurately to boot? Pelion would have given a hundred dinars to figure out the taller man's secrets.

"She was last seen entering the Temple of Ares," Mortius replied, and Pelion snapped his fingers, the sound echoing self consciously loudly in the quiet air of the chamber. Despite all the authority Mortius had claimed Pelion possessed, it was hard sometimes hard to shake the feeling that he was really a simple whipping boy, a second in command stooge to Mortius' main event.

"The Oracle!" he announced lightly. "She's going to see the Oracle!"

Mortius stopped just short of the clustered shadows at the end of the room, and turned to face Pelion again. If Pelion had not known better, he would have sworn the other man was grinning at him from beneath that hood.

"An excellent opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, wouldn't you agree?" he said as the shadows crawled out to claim him.

* * *

Leonidas paced back and forth across the chamber, his arms folded unhappily across his chest as he watched Callisto slip onto the long stone slab, swinging her feet up so that she was sitting cross legged with her arms draped across her knees in a surprisingly girlish manner.

"What's the matter?" she asked him, her head cocked slightly to one side. "You look as happy about all this as I feel."

"Maybe you should try telling me something to feel happy about then," Leonidas replied, and glanced over to where Miranda was standing, stirring morosely at the vat of vile smelling yellow Pneuma. "My men are preparing for war, the Helots are on the verge of revolt, and the Ephors are busy handing the whole city over to Xerxes and his army on a silver platter. Meanwhile, here I am, standing around waiting for some kind of vision quest to tell me if an ancient, primordial Titan is about to return to the land of the living so that he can wreak havoc across all of Greece!"

"I fail to see your problem," Callisto said with a mischievous grin, and Leonidas rolled his eyes.

"Now is hardly the time for jokes, Callisto," he said.

"You're right," she nodded with mock seriousness, "but that's never stopped me from telling them before."

"Leonidas has never had much faith I'm afraid," Miranda interjected as she ladled a large spoonful of Pneuma into a small clay bowl, then placed a lid over the top of it, before crossing back to the slab upon which Callisto was sitting.

"He's right not to," the blonde warrior woman said and looked back to Leonidas. "I've had my fare share of experience dealing with the gods, and don't you think for one moment that they actually care about any of us."

"So who should he place his faith in then?" Miranda jeered back, "You?" She shook her head ruefully. "Don't make me laugh."

"At least I'm trying to help," Callisto snapped back at her. "Where was Ares when they needed him at Marathon? Where is he now even, when those who are most faithful to him need him more than ever?"

Miranda fixed her with a steady look.

"He sent me the visions of you coming here didn't he?" she said, then muttered, "much as I wish he hadn't."

She crossed to the slab and placed her hand across Callisto's forehead and pushed her gently down onto the slab.

"Now lie back and try to relax," Miranda continued, her voice now full of a quiet authority that surprised Leonidas. He had never heard her speak that way before. "A person's first exposure to the Pneuma can be somewhat..."

she paused and flashed Callisto a sinister smile.

"...uncomfortable," she concluded.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Callisto asked, propping herself up on her elbows and eyeing the other woman suspiciously.

"It means this will hurt," Miranda said evenly. "A lot."

Callisto continued to regard the other woman steadily for long moments, then, finally, she gave a shrug and lay back obligingly on the slab again, her hands folding neatly across her stomach as she did so.

"I suppose _I have_ already been suffocated, stabbed, burned, buried alive and tortured in Tartarus," she said, then suddenly clapped her hands together in mock excitement.

"Ooooh yes!" she exclaimed, "There was that one time Xena cut my hand off as well!"

She wiggled her fingers playfully for effect.

"By comparison this should be easy street, so lets just get on with it shall we?"

Miranda gave her own return shrug.

"As you wish," she said.

Leonidas continued to pace uncomfortably back and forth, watching as Miranda moved to her side, still carrying the covered bowl of the strange, noxious liquid. He did not know what to make of all this. In all his life he had never come across anything that he could not explain or believe in with his own two eyes, but all this talk of gods, titans, mystical barriers, visions and prophecies was way above his head. How could these two women treat it so simply, as if it were all in a days work for them?

"Callisto, I'm..." he began, but she cut him off with a single raised finger.

"...not sure about this, I know," she finished for him. She turned her head to fix him with a determined gaze from where she lay. "To be honest with you, I don't really want to do it either, but this is the only way to find out what the gods really want of me, and if there's any way to save you."

She turned her head to stare back at the ceiling, leaving Leonidas speechless.

"Now, can we please get on with it before I change my mind?" she said. Miranda nodded, then gestured to Leonidas.

"I'll need your help," she said and he crossed quickly to her side.

"What do you need?"

"When the Pneuma takes hold, she's going to buck, and buck hard," Miranda said, motioning for him to hold Callisto down. "I'd rather not end up taking a dagger through the eye when she does."

Callisto grinned up at her.

"Why would you think I'd need to wait for the Pneuma to kick in to do that?" she said.

"Just hold her," Miranda said, ignoring the other woman.

Nodding, Leonidas braced his arms hard against Callisto's shoulders as she turned her grin to him, their faces now no more than a few inches apart.

"Why, Leonidas!" she said, a note of mocking amusement in her voice. "I didn't know you cared."

Leonidas cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Be safe, Callisto," he said simply as Miranda reached out with the bowl, holding it beneath Callisto's nose. Her grin widened.

"Aren't I always?" she said.

"You've somehow managed to die twice," he answered, without even a hint of irony. "I'd say, not really, no."

"Well, why break the habit of a lifetime now?" Callisto replied smartly.

"I need silence please, both of you," Miranda said, and Leonidas nodded, his fingers tightening around the shoulder pads of Callisto's armour.

"When I remove the lid from the pot, you must breathe deep, you understand?" Miranda continued, and Callisto nodded.

"I've got it," she said.

"Alright then," Miranda replied.

When she spoke again, her voice had changed, becoming deeper and more resonant, as she began a solemn intonation that few beyond the temple's inner circle of priests would ever normally get to hear.

"Oh great Ares, Lord of all conflict and war, grant us now the power to see with thine own eyes into the darkest recesses of our souls, and in so doing, the clarity to pierce the veil of the now, and travel the undiscovered lands that lie beyond," as she spoke she reached down and pulled the lid from the pot. Placing it to one side, she held the pot close to Callisto's mouth and nose as a faint sulphuric scent filled the air around them, and an odd sickly yellow steam began to rise up from the clay container.

Callisto glanced at Miranda questioningly and the Oracle nodded in return. Without hesitation, she took a deep breath, and the strange yellow steam seemed to reach out like a living a thing, its long crawling tendrils creeping slowly and purposefully into her nose and mouth. Miranda wasted no time, hurriedly reaching down and replacing the lid of the pot, sealing what remained of the strange mist inside before any more of it could escape into the air as the last remnants of that which had crawled into Callisto's mouth.

"Is that it?" Callisto asked.

Miranda nodded.

"But I don't feel any different," Callisto said.

"Give it time," Miranda replied. "The effects can take a moment or two to take hold."

Callisto frowned and lay still, Leonidas still holding her firmly by the shoulders. He had to admit, it did not seem like the Pneuma was working. Callisto looked as awake and alert as ever. She had even begun to drum her fingers impatiently against her stomach.

"How much longer should it take?" she asked.

"Just wait," Miranda said, turning away from the slab and returning to the hearth so she could empty what remained of the Pneuma back into the vat.

Callisto lay still for perhaps another minute, her gaze fixed squarely on the ceiling above. Finally she gave an exasperated groan, and tried to rise but Leonidas continued to hold her firmly against the cool surface of the slab. She shot him an irritated glance.

"Would you let me up?" she said in an annoyed tone of voice. "I need another lungful of that stuff. This batch clearly isn't..."

She never managed to finish the sentence. Without warning, a powerful spasm wracked her whole body, cutting her off mid speech. She bucked hard in his grip, her spine arching furiously as her hands shot out to either side, her fingers making desperate clawing motions while her legs began to thrash desperately, the heels of her leather boots scraping against the cold stone. Leonidas did his best to hold onto her, quietly surprised by the level of strength she possessed as his grip turned white knuckle fierce while she thrashed and contorted ever harder beneath him. For a moment her eyes met his in a moment of pure desperate agony, then slowly they began to glaze over, rolling back in her skull until only the whites were visible. Then, as quickly as it had started, the fitting subsided, and she lay still, her chest heaving from the sheer physical exertion of it all. Leonidas had begun to relax his grip slightly when he felt Miranda's hand fall upon his shoulder. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye to see her shaking her head at him.

Suddenly, Callisto's eyes flew open and she screamed out in pain. It was a terrible, ear piercing shriek that haunted the chamber long after it had faded. Her back arched again, her arms grasping desperately at Leonidas' biceps as her head began to thrash vainly from side to side, tossing her thick blonde hair this way and that. He winced slightly as he felt her finger nails sink into his flesh with such force that they began to draw blood.

"Is this normal!?" he asked desperately, as Miranda crossed to the head of the slab and took Callisto's wildly thrashing head firmly between her hands and held it still. She glanced back at him and nodded.

"Believe it or not, she's doing better than most," she said grimly. "I nearly bit off my own tongue the first time I went through this."

With that, she turned back to Callisto, and leaned in close to the other woman's ear. She began to whisper something softly to her, and as she did so, Callisto seemed to relax, her pained, teeth-gritting grimace changing instead to an expression of utter misery and devastation. Her wild, staring eyes began to drift gently shut, as her muscles, previously as taught and hard as fresh forged steel, finally began to relax again. As her eyes finally slid shut, and she began to slip into unconsciousness, Leonidas was surprised to hear her let out a soft, almost childlike whimper.

"Did she just say 'mama'?" he asked, giving Miranda a curious look as he did so.

The other woman nodded.

"I think so," she said, then motioned to his hands that were both still tightly wrapped around her shoulders.

"You can let her go now," she said. "I don't think she'll be doing any more of her little back breaking theatrics."

Leonidas breathed a sigh of relief and began to straighten, wincing only slightly as Callisto's hands finally released the vice like grip they had had on his arms, her finger nails coming away stained with his blood as she did so.

"Let me take a look at that," Miranda said, turning and making for a small table in a corner of the chamber. On it sat a pitcher and an earthenware bowl with a number of clean white cloths neatly folded beside them. The dark haired Oracle quickly filled the bowl from the pitcher and then crossed back to Leonidas' side, soaking one of the cloths in the bowl as she went. Without another word, she seated herself beside him on the slab and began to daub gently at the deep scratch marks.

"Is that entirely necessary?" Leonidas asked. "I've had much worse on campaign."

"We wouldn't want them to get infected now, would we," Miranda replied, shooting a disgusted look at the unconscious form of Callisto as she did so.

"After all," she continued, "who knows where she's been."

Leonidas did his best to ignore the jibe.

"Is it always like that?" he asked.

"Like what?" Miranda said absently, returning her attention to the scratch marks.

"So painful," Leonidas said. Miranda glanced up at him, her expression completely flat and unreadable.

"Yes," she said simply. "For first timers at least, when you don't know what to expect. After a while you get used to it. It's not so bad then."

"Couldn't you have given her more warning?" Leonidas said, looking back over at Callisto. Her eyes were closed now, but they were darting back and forth beneath the lids, and her brow was furrowed in a faintly pained expression.

"I told her it was dangerous," Miranda protested, "and besides, it's no more than she deserves."

"You really don't like her do you." Leonidas replied, stating the blatantly obvious.

"Whatever gave you that idea!?" Miranda snapped sarcastically back at him. "I love her to bits! If we'd met under better circumstances, I'm sure we'd have even been the best of friends."

Leonidas fixed her with a steady look. Her sarcasm reminded him of Callisto somewhat.

"Maybe you would have at that," he said, and Miranda gave a snort of dry amusement.

"What causes the pain anyway?" he asked, deciding to try and change the subject to something a little less heated.

Miranda shrugged.

"Who knows really," she replied. "The Pneuma's a bit of a mystery to be honest. Like Ambrosia. A gift from the gods. No one knows _how_ it does what it does, only that it does it."

"And what exactly _is it_ that it does?" Leonidas asked. "And please, none of your usual woolly, mystical nonsense. I've had about as much of it as I can stand for one day."

"I told you already, its a hallucinogen," Miranda replied. "It makes you look inward, see things you don't want to see and in a way you don't want to see them. By confronting them, you gain... perspective I suppose... clarity even. It's only when we have clarity that the gods deign to speak with us."

"So, what do you think she's seeing?" Leonidas asked, his tone one of intrigue as he watched Callisto's rapidly darting eyes.

Miranda stared at him levelly.

"Why do you even care so much?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Are you carrying a torch for her or something?"

Leonidas started at that and turned his gaze back to her. Cool blue eyes stared back at him, continuing to regard him in that measuring way she had always had, even since they were children together. It was the one that always managed to make him feel two inches tall, even after all these years.

"What..." he coughed, slightly taken aback by her statement, then tried to begin again.

"I... uh... no, nothing like that," he said, still trying to find the right words. "I just find her... I don't know... interesting I suppose. She's so unlike what I expected when you told me she was coming here. I thought she would be some blood thirsty, ravenous warlord that I would have to wrestle to keep control over. Instead I get this woman, with so much anger bubbling inside her, but underneath it all there's so much sadness too, like she's living in a nightmare she doesn't know how to escape from."

Miranda gave a slight nod to herself.

"So that's it," she said.

"What's 'it'?" Leonidas frowned at her.

"She's one of your little projects isn't she?" Miranda said knowingly. "Just like Ithius."

"I hate it when you talk about him that way," Leonidas replied. "Ithius is my friend. Not some experiment my father and I cooked up together."

Miranda cocked an eyebrow at him.

"So, is she a friend then too?"

"No..." Leonidas started to protest, then suddenly had second thoughts about it. "I mean yes... maybe... I don't really know."

Miranda gave a soft sigh.

"She's not worth it, Leonidas," she said, shaking her head she did so. "This is Callisto. We've both heard the stories about her, but I can tell you for a fact that almost all of them are true, and no amount of imagining about her little personal tragedy will magically turn into the hero you want her to be."

"Who said anything about her being a hero?" Leonidas said, and Miranda rolled her eyes.

"Oh please!" she said exasperatedly. "Since when have you ever paid attention to prophecy before? Yet the moment you bring her here, you suddenly seem to think she's the answer to all your problems? How is that not wanting her to be a hero?"

With that, she pulled the cloth away from his arm and stalked back over to the table in the corner of the room.

"Maybe if you'd been a little clearer in your prophesying, I wouldn't have just assumed you were telling me about someone who could save us all from the Persians!" Leonidas shot back, feeling his temper rising.

"How many times do I have to say this!?" Miranda snapped back at him, "Me! Oracle! Messenger! How difficult a concept is that for the pair of you to grasp!? It's hardly my fault you can't even figure out how to read the damned message properly."

Leonidas was about to snap a retort when he noticed her shoulders trembling. She was standing with her back to him, her face hidden from view while her hands gripped the small side table tightly. She sniffed slightly as Leonidas got to his feet.

"Miranda," he began softly now, doing his best to keep his temper under control. "Tell me the truth, what's all this really about?"

"Why are you defending her!?" she rounded on him angrily, and for the first time, Leonidas could see the tears in her eyes that she had clearly been trying to hold back. "She's not some misunderstood, but ultimately noble warrior, Leonidas! She's a jackal! A filthy carrion eater who circles her prey waiting for a moment – any moment – of weakness, so she can slip inside their guard and cause them as much suffering as possible! She does nothing, but bring destruction and death with her wherever she goes! And now she's brought it here! To you and me!"

"You're trying to blame her for the Persian invasion!?" Leonidas said incredulously. "You think I'm riding out to die at Thermopylae because of her? That it's somehow her fault?"

Miranda gave a bitter, sob-wracked, laugh.

"You always think it's all about you don't you?" she said.

Leonidas stared at her blankly for a moment. What was she saying? Of course Callisto was not responsible for the Persian invasion. Come to think of it, Miranda had never once even mentioned her in relation to them, but that meant if she was not linking Callisto to the death she had foretold for him, then she was instead talking about...

The answer hit him with all the force of a one tonne war-hammer.

"Miranda..." he began, not really knowing what to say. "I'm sorry... I didn't realise..."

His apology was too much for her to take. She collapsed back against the wall and slid down it to the floor, her chest heaving with uneven sobs as she hugged her knees tightly to her chest.

Leonidas could only stand in silence, unable to put his thoughts into words. Instead, his gaze dropped to the floor, as he vainly tried to think of how he could make things better.

"When will it happen?" he asked finally, not knowing what else to say.

"Soon," was Miranda's reply. She lifted her head to stare up at him with a desperate tear stained expression on her face.

"You're a soldier Leonidas," she said. "Tell me how do you do it? Tell me how you stare death in the face the way you do? Maybe it will make it that bit easier."

Leonidas could only shrug.

"I don't think there's a secret to it," he replied. "Everyone just has to learn how to deal with death in their own way I think."

"Her way is just to keep coming back," Miranda sneered bitterly as she glanced over toward where Callisto lay. She sat still for a moment, her gaze blazing fiercely, then slowly, the sobs overcame her once more and she broke down into further floods of tears.

Leonidas crossed to her side, sliding down the wall until he was seated next to her, then reached over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She collapsed against him, her own arms wrapping tightly around his waist in the same way a drowning person clings to driftwood. That sat together like that for long minutes, Miranda's sobbing and sniffing continuing unabated and causing a dull ache to form at the back of Leonidas' throat.

"It's not fair Leonidas!" she managed to get out from between choked sniffs eventually. "I'm not ready! I just keep thinking about my life, and all the things I never did..."

Her red rimmed eyes met his, and the ache in the back of his throat grew even stronger.

"...all the things I missed out on," she finished sadly.

With a deep breath, Leonidas managed to force a smile onto his face.

"Tell me about it," he said. "I still wish I'd managed to pluck up the courage to try that spicy food the merchants brought to the palace that one time. Do you remember it?"

Miranda managed a small chuckle and nodded.

"I do," she said. "How could I forget? Ithius was up half the night in the palace outhouses."

Leonidas gave a laugh of genuine amusement as he remembered the tired, hang dog expression his old friend had worn the morning after.

"He still said it was the best food he had ever tasted though," he smiled. He felt Miranda's grip tighten firmly around him, as if he were a lifeline keeping her from becoming lost upon the sea of her own misery. Instinctively, he tightened his grip around her shoulders as well, and the two of them fell back into silence, Miranda's weeping finally subsiding into the occasional quite sniff.

For a little while, all was peaceful, and Leonidas could feel his eyes growing heavy. It had been a long, eventful day and he could feel the weariness right through to his bones. He leaned back against the wall, his head resting against the cool stone, and closed his eyes.

He was drifting on the very edge of sleep when he heard them; footsteps ringing loudly off the marble floor in the main altar chamber.

Miranda had obviously heard them too. She straightened slightly as Leonidas slipped his arm free of her shoulders and began to stand.

"Who do you think it is?" she asked.

"I don't know," Leonidas replied, straightening the clasp at his shoulder, and checking to make sure his sword was securely fastened to his hip. "At this time of night though, I'm not taking any chances."

He turned to make for the door that led out onto the main temple floor. Miranda was about to follow him when he turned and motioned to her to remain behind.

"Wait here and keep an eye on her," he said. "This shouldn't take long."

Miranda nodded to him.

"Be careful," she said softly.

Leonidas flashed her a confident smile, before turning and stepping out through the door.

The main temple chamber had dimmed considerably since he and Callisto had entered earlier. A number of the torches had guttered and died, leaving only a few still lit and scattered at random intervals around the chamber. Long shadows crept and crawled in what little firelight still remained, and he was forced to strand still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they finally did, he could dimly make out a number of familiar figures advancing across the temple floor. They were all dressed fairly similarly, their long blue cloaks flowing behind them as they moved, and at their head strode a man with a high crested Spartan helm.

"Good evening Demosthenes," he greeted them with forced casualness. Without really thinking about it, he found himself moving to out in front of the altar so that he could intercept them. "And what, if I may ask, brings you here at this late hour."

Demosthenes paused mid-stride, his men coming to a halt behind him. Slowly, the Spartan King reached up to remove his helmet and fixed Leonidas with a hard, steady stare.

"I could very well ask you the same question," he said, glancing searchingly from side to side as he did so. "I think we would both know the answer to that though, wouldn't we."

"If you mean the nightcap I came here for..." Leonidas began cheerily, but Demosthenes cut him off short with a withering look.

"Don't try to play me, Leonidas," he said, his voice turning low and dangerous. "Where's Callisto?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Leonidas replied innocently.

"Oh, don't you now?" Demosthenes said, stepping up onto the small dais upon which the altar was situated so that he could stand eye to eye with Leonidas.

"Well that is rather odd. You see, my men here, tell me you released her from my cells not more than three hours ago," he continued, before calling back over his shoulder, "Isn't that right Orestes?"

The guard Leonidas remembered as having surrendered Callisto and Athelis to him at Demosthenes' palace was among those who had accompanied the Spartan King, and now he shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of his failure.

"You should not treat him too harshly," Leonidas said.

"He failed in his duty..." Demosthenes began.

"...and obeyed the orders of a King," Leonidas protested, but Demosthenes only cut him off with a single raised finger.

"...who was not _his_ king to give him orders in the first place!" he snapped. "You are overstepping your boundaries again, Leonidas, as you have been doing ever since this whole mess started. We heard that you had been seen coming here with her, and so I repeat, where is Callisto?"

"I don't have her," Leonidas replied, amazed at how quickly and smoothly the lie came to him. "I did release her from your cells. She was my guest in Sparta, as was the mercenary, and by Spartan custom I am at least partially responsible for any crimes they may have committed while staying here. As a result, it seemed only right that I be the one to take responsibility for their imprisonment, and any subsequent punishments, personally."

Demosthenes frowned at him.

"You don't have her?" he said disbelievingly.

Leonidas only nodded.

"But you were seen coming here in her company," Demosthenes protested.

"Unfortunately that is also true," Leonidas nodded again. "Let it not be said that she isn't crafty. She told me she wanted to make an appeal to Ares, for clemency in her sentence for the murder of the ambassador. I was on my way here anyway to speak with the Oracle, and figured it would spare my men a journey if I brought her here myself."

Demosthenes folded his arms squarely across his chest.

"So," he prompted, "where is she then?"

Leonidas shrugged.

"To my eternal shame, I'm not sure," he said. She gave me the slip on the way over here. Quite the little helion too as I'm sure you can see."

He gestured to the scratch marks on his arms and Demosthenes' eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"She got away from you?" he said.

"And is probably halfway out of the city by now," Leonidas replied smoothly. "I don't think she liked the idea of being left to Spartan mercy."

"Then there will be no problem if we search this temple then," Demosthenes said, gesturing to his men to fan out and check the various nooks and alcoves around the edges of the chamber.

Leonidas swallowed and felt his mouth go dry, a sudden cold sweat chilling his spine beneath his armour.

"None at all," he answered, doing his best to keep his voice as congenial as he possibly could.

"This is not his temple to give such permission," a third voice rang out, and Leonidas had to try hard to keep from breathing a sigh of relief. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Miranda emerging from the Pneuma chamber in which Callisto was hidden. As she crossed to meet them at the altar, he could see she was carrying that sword of hers, unlimbered and shining in the dim half light, while its accompanying hide buckler was strapped to her left forearm. He did not think he had ever been happier to see her in his entire life.

"You know," she continued, stepping gracefully up onto the dais with them, "it pains me to see how little two Spartan Kings trust each other. I remember a time when the two of you would have been the strongest of allies, and when standing side by side, how nothing could defeat you."

She cocked her head, regarding Demosthenes curiously.

"Whatever happened to those times?" she asked.

The blue cloaked king gave her a look that spoke of equal parts misery and disgust.

"We stood side be side," he said flatly, "and we lost."

"One defeat is hardly a reason to give up hope," Miranda replied.

"You mean faith," Demosthenes sneered. "Faith in your God of War to deliver us from the world's horrors."

He crossed to the corner of the altar where the offerings table had been placed. It was filled with the various material offerings people would give in the hope of receiving Ares' blessing. Among the odds and ends and assorted bric-a-brac, someone had donated an intricately worked golden decanter of wine, along with a matching goblet, both studded with a small fortune's worth of precious stones.

Demosthenes grasped the decanter by the handle and picked up the goblet in his other hand. He lifted the wine to his nose and took a long deep inhale, his eyes closed as he allowed the rich scent to permeate the air, and flow through him.

"An Athenian vineyard," he said softly, opening his eyes and pouring the wine into the goblet. "Expensive, even in a poor year for the grapes..."

He lifted the goblet to his lips, mid sentence, and drank from it, the wine filling his cheeks as he swilled it around the inside of his mouth. Suddenly, he grimaced and spat the contents of his mouth out and across the altar, staining the stone a blood-like crimson.

"...and worth about as much as Ares' loyalty to those follow him," he hissed, wiping the last vestiges of wine from around his lips with the back of his hand. Without warning, he span on the spot, his boot flashing out to catch the offerings table hard, tipping it backward and spilling the various gifts to Ares across the temple floor with a resounding crash.

"Where is your God of War now?" he snapped sharply, rounding on Miranda fiercely as he did so. "Where is his wrath? His punishment for my disrespect?"

He tossed the golden goblet aside, the sound of it clattering down the steps of the dais echoing hollowly through out the chamber.

"We are Spartans," he announced loudly. "We forge our own destiny, in blood and fire! We do not need the blessings of some turn coat war god or his chosen witch! We only need this..." he slapped his own broad arm roughly, "...and this," he finished, rattling the hilt of his sword.

Miranda, for her part, did not so much as flinch.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you and your men to leave now," she said, her voice icy cold. "It is late, and I am in no mood to humour those who would show such complete disrespect, both to this place of worship, and to myself."

A dark look of anger began to spread across Demosthenes' face.

"And what if I refuse," he said, his voice equally cold.

Miranda's hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, the leather-wrapped hilt creaking slightly as she did so.

"Then I will stop asking," she said.

Demosthenes regarded her steadily for a moment, then shook his head.

"No," he said. "I am here to find a fugitive from Spartan justice, and I will not leave until I have done so."

"Then you will not be leaving any time soon it would seem," Miranda replied, glancing to Leonidas. "As _King_ Leonidas has already said, this person you are looking for is not here."

"I will be the judge of that," Demosthenes repeated, and gestured for his men to search the back rooms. A few of his soldiers peeled off from their efforts around the main temple chamber and began to move toward the various doors that were placed at intervals along the walls. Leonidas felt his stomach turn as he watched two of them start toward the door behind which Callisto now lay, unconscious and defenceless. He was about to speak out, but then Miranda spoke again, clearly already one step ahead of him.

"May I remind you that while this main chamber is open to the Spartan people for public petitioning and worship, the rest of this temple is not," she said evenly. "Those chambers are for temple acolytes and priests only. No one else, not even the Ephors, may enter them without express permission from a member of the temple. To do so would be to completely disregard Spartan law in respect to the divine mandate of Ares."

She stepped closer to Demosthenes, her eyes flashing victoriously.

"Are you prepared to break the laws you claim to defend in trying to uphold them?" she asked.

Demosthenes glared at her furiously.

"You allowed Leonidas inside," he said.

A half smile lit Miranda's face.

"He is my friend," she said simply. "You are not."

Demosthenes paused for a moment, and then, with an exasperated grunt, he gestured to his soldiers to fall back into formation with him. As they clustered around him, he glanced between Leonidas and Miranda with barely disguised disdain.

"This is not done yet, you know," he said darkly, finally fixing his gaze on Leonidas. "There is a reckoning coming, and Callisto will be the first one I hang from the city walls when it does."

With that, he turned and stalked angrily out of the temple, his men trailing in his wake. As the temple doors crashed shut behind them, Miranda visibly sagged, letting out a sigh of relief as she did so.

"I thought he'd never leave!" she muttered. Leonidas placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you," he said softly and Miranda turned to regard him steadily, her eyes still reddened from her earlier tears.

"Just so you know, I did it for you, not for her," she flicked her head toward the chamber at the rear of the temple.

"Also," she added, pointing toward the doors through which Demosthenes had just left, "I really don't like that man."

"You never did," Leonidas smiled, to which Miranda only shrugged.

"Is it my fault if I can't stand stuck up, pompous, assholes?" she replied.

"Not really," Leonidas said, his voice becoming more sincere. "He was right about one thing though."

"And what was that?" Miranda replied.

"We're Spartans," Leonidas replied. "We make our own fates."

Miranda gave a sad, half amused laugh at that.

"I think you've given one too many motivational speeches my king," she smiled. "Your brains are addled."

Leonidas' answering laugh was genuine. This was the Miranda he remembered. Quick witted and utterly unimpressed by his rank. She had always been a steadying influence on him, a way to keep himself grounded. Sometimes, he still found himself wondering what kind of a queen she would have made.

"Maybe so," he said, "but you shouldn't be so quick to place such faith in prophecy either."

"I'm an Oracle, Leonidas," Miranda replied as if she were talking to a particularly dense child. "It's what I do."

"Just listen for a moment will you," Leonidas said, taking her firmly by both shoulders and staring into her eyes, trying hard to lend his voice a level of conviction he did not really feel. "The future is not fixed. How we die is not written in stone. We can change all of this if we only have the _will_ to do so. Hope is not lost; not yet. We _can_ still win."

Miranda stared back at him in silence. After a few moments she gave the barest of nods.

"Okay," she said.

"That's it?" Leonidas replied, his brow furrowing in confusion. "No 'ifs' or 'buts', or 'for the glory of Ares''?"

Miranda smiled at him.

"None," she said.

"Alright then," Leonidas nodded firmly, then glanced toward the exit as he released his grip on her shoulders and straightened.

"I had better go," he said. "It looks suspicious if I remain here, and I need to check on my men to make sure all the preparations for tomorrow's march are going well. Can you..."

Miranda nodded, not even needing to hear the rest of his question.

"I'll watch her," she said. "Make sure she doesn't come to any harm."

"When she wakes up, tell her to head to my palace," Leonidas said. "I would speak with her before I leave, if I am able, and its probably the only safe place in the city for her right now."

"Besides here," Miranda said, and he flashed her a thankful look.

"Right," he nodded, then let out a long breath.

"Time I was leaving then," he said stepping down from the dais.

"Leonidas," Miranda said behind him.

"Yes?" he said, beginning to turn around when he felt her barrel into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders in fierce hug. For a moment he stood in stunned silence, then, slowly and tentatively, he returned the gesture.

"Good luck," she said softly. "And may Ares watch over you."

"It will all be alright in the end," he said, holding her tightly and again trying his best to sound convincing, even though deep down, he felt anything but. "You'll see."

Slowly he released his grip on her, stepping back out of reach. The distance was no more than a few feet, but it felt as if a huge gulf had suddenly opened between them.

"I'll see you soon," he said, and with that, he turned on his heel and headed out of the temple.

Miranda watched him go in silence, the doors swinging quietly shut behind him to leave her alone on the temple floor among the guttering torch light.

"No," she whispered sadly. "You won't."

* * *

The hillside was rich and fertile, covered in thick grass that swayed back and forth in the midday breeze like waves upon an ocean of green.

Callisto did not know what to make of it all.

She was standing in it now, the long blades of the grass reaching almost to her knees, the warmth of the noon sun caressing her neck and shoulders. She wanted to lie down and bask in it, luxuriate in the peace and tranquillity of it all, but a nagging doubt in the back of her mind told her that something about this place was not entirely as it first appeared. This was hardly the torturous nightmare that Miranda had promised her, and yet there was something vaguely familiar about this place, as if she had been here before. That strangeness alone was enough to set her nerves on edge, and she began to turn on the spot so that she might better take in her surroundings.

The crest of the hill was only a few metres away, but just high enough to prevent her seeing what was beyond it. The hill itself slid down into a narrow valley before climbing up the other another hill on the opposite side, its own slopes as rich a green as the one upon which she now stood. In the valley stood a small copse of trees, and at the sight of them, something stirred in the back of her mind, a memory of herself as a child sitting beneath one of the large ones and... and what? The memory was hazy and she could not fully recall why she had been there, or what she had even been doing.

Despite the nagging warnings in the back of her mind, she was struggling to keep her guard up. Everything about this place just felt so right to her, so comforting and warm, as if this were the only place she truly belonged. It was that single thought that sent chills down her spine as a creeping suspicion began spread through her mind. She was beginning to understand where she was.

Somewhere at the edge of hearing a mocking tone of laughter sounded, causing the anger in her gut to churn poisonously. If this was where she thought it was, she did not want to think about what might be coming next.

The laughter grew louder, taunting her from just beyond reach, and a bitter sneer twisted at her lip as she turned and began to stalk angrily up the hillside, until, after less than a minute, she emerged onto its crest. Her heart leapt into her throat as the truth of where she was finally came crashing home.

A small village sat nestled at the base of the hill. It was made up of a ramshackle cluster of town houses belonging to various tradesmen, a single tavern, and a number of shops and stalls all gathered around a muddy clearing that passed for a town square with a large well sunk at its centre. Around the edge of the village stood numerous granaries and barns, all to store the produce from the myriad farms scattered across the country side beyond. The sight of one of the farms, close to the village with a low dry stone wall around its perimeter, brought a lump to her throat and silenced the mocking laughter in her head for a moment.

"I'm home," she whispered quietly to herself, and for the first time since she could remember, the anger that churned ceaselessly in her gut died. She glanced nervously across the horizon, dreading what she might see there, but all was as it should be, calm, peaceful and serene. The longer she stood silently a top the hill with nothing untoward taking place, the more she allowed herself to hope that maybe, this time, everything would turn out better.

Eventually, she could not hold it in anymore and before she knew it, she was running down the hillside.

"I'm home!" she shouted again, happily this time, as her feet pounded against the hillside, carrying her down toward the village, down toward Cirra.

Her happiness was short lived.

Before she was even halfway down the slope, the sky began to darken unnaturally, the sun disappearing as if passing behind a curtain and leaving only blackness in its wake. Despite that though, the light that covered the hill side and Cirra itself was still the light of day.

"No," she muttered under her breath as she ran, "Please, no!"

The laughter returned sharply inside her mind, stronger now than it had ever been before, and Callisto skidded to a stop, clutching her hands tightly across her ears in an attempt to shut it out.

"Stop it!" she hissed angrily, the brief respite from all the pain and hate ending in an instant. "I don't want this, do you hear me!? I DON'T WANT IT!"

She all but screamed the last part, but the laughter did not cease. Instead it continued, cruel, taunting and merciless.

A distant cry went up from somewhere nearby, and Callisto's eyes immediately darted to a neighbouring hill top, her heart sinking as the last vestiges of hope were dashed to pieces by the sight of a small army cresting its peak. They were a rag tag bunch, clad all in mismatched armour and carrying weapons of every size and shape. Some only carried clubs and staffs, while others bore decidedly more lethal weapons, including swords, maces and pikes. Most were on foot, but a large number were mounted, their horses stirring uneasily in anticipation of the coming attack. Toward the rear, Callisto sighted another figure. They were distant and indistinct, but from the way they sat their horse, it was clear the figure was a woman.

"Xena," she hissed darkly, and started down the hill at a run once more, her pace no longer set by her happiness, but by her desperation as she dashed along in a mad scramble to reach the village before the army could charge. She had to stop this! It could not happen again! No! She would not let it happen again, never again!

Suddenly, the laughter echoing inside her head stopped, and instead a voice spoke to her, its cruel mocking tones clearly those of her own.

"Born in blood," the voice chuckled mirthlessly, "Born in fire! So it all began for you, and soon, so it will begin for me!"

Callisto did her best to ignore it as she reached the outskirts of the village and began to sprint madly through the streets.

"Everybody!" she shouted loudly at the villagers milling about uncertainly around her, "Please! You have to run! Xena is coming and she's going to... going to..."

Her voice trailed off in astonishment as a sea of unexpected faces stared back at her. These weren't the villagers she had grown up with. Instead she was surrounded by the faces of others people; people that she knew by name. Atrix, Dahlia, Silas, Tarthus, Ithius, Athelis, Leonidas, Monocles, Miranda... they were all here; a vast crowd of the same faces repeating over and over again as they stared back at her accusingly from the among the walls of the doomed village.

"Leonidas!" she said imploringly to he nearest version of him she could see. "Leonidas please! You have to help me!"

She ran up to him, her arms gripping his tightly in purest desperation.

"Soon, soon, soon, soon," her own voice cooed softly in the back of her mind, but Callisto did her best to ignore it.

"You have to get them away from here!" she pleaded. "It's not safe. If you don't go, now, Xena's army will kill you all!"

"Soon, soon, soon, soon," the voice continued.

Suddenly and without warning, Leonidas reached out and grasped her hard by her arms as she was grasping him. His fingers began to tighten around her, digging harder and harder into her flesh until she winced in pain. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from her own, and when he spoke, his tone was harsh and stabbing, like a dagger aiming straight for her heart.

"It's not Xena we have to fear," he hissed. "It's not Xena who brings death here now."

The mocking cooing voice inside her head broke into a fresh torrent of laughter and Callisto twisted in Leonidas' grasp, suddenly desperate to be away from and his hard, hate filled stare. Try as he might though, she could not get free. He clung to her grimly, his fingers like bands of iron, and instinctively, she reached for her leather vambrace where she had once kept the stiletto dagger Silas had given her. She did not know why she went for it. She remembered giving it back to Dahlia in Penthos, but sure enough, and not at all to her surprise, it slid easily into her grasp and without hesitation, she brought it up smoothly to bury it in Leonidas' throat with furious cry of anger.

The image of Leonidas gave a muted gurgling gasp as the blade parted his skin. The laughter in her head echoed louder as Callisto felt a dim spark of satisfaction at the sensation of his warm blood running over her fingertips and the coppery scent of it teasing her senses.

"Soon," the voice hissed again, more malevolently this time, "very soon."

Callisto pulled the dagger free, and stood silently for a moment, staring at the blood that now stained her hands. Something was wrong. There was not enough. Not nearly enough.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a blood curdling, ululating war cry. At first she thought it belonged to Xena, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that it had been different, but still hauntingly familiar. At that sudden realisation, a strange new sensation gripped with icy fingers at her hear. She could feel it deep inside her. Something she had not felt in a long time.

Fear.

With a strangled cry, she span away from the crowd of faces all still staring at her accusingly, and fled up the nearest street, her breath rattling hollowly in her chest. She had not felt this way since the night Cirra had burned, and her mind was racing with the sensation of it. She needed to find somewhere to go, somewhere away from the chaos and that haunting, mocking laughter.

There was only one place she knew where she could feel safe, and without thinking, she angled left down a narrow side street, the memories of where she needed go coming back to her in floods of familiar sights and sounds. Then, suddenly, she burst out from the village and was sprinting across open ground toward the farm she had spied earlier; the one with the dry stone wall.

She vaulted the wall easily, her legs eating the distance quickly as landed and crossed the backyard to the farm house itself. Without hesitation she reached out for the back door, not in the least surprised to find it unlocked as she yanked it open and hurried inside. She slammed it shut behind her, ramming back the heavy iron bolt home that she had always had trouble reaching when she was younger. Cautiously, she turned, her eyes darting furtively across the room she found herself in. It was the kitchen, and for a brief moment, the image of her mother preparing the evening meal flashed across her thoughts.

She shook her head firmly. She did not have time for this. She needed to move and move fast, before the army arrived and burned everyone alive. Quickly, she crossed the room, passing through a curtained stone arch into the main living area beyond.

"Mama, Papa," she breathed heavily as she entered. "Are you in here? We've got to go! I don't have time to explain but..." the words died on her lips as her eyes settled on the scene in front of her.

The living room was not how she remembered it. It had once been cluttered with a dozen different pieces of furniture, all cabinets, cupboards and rickety old chairs scattered haphazardly about the place. Now though, it was empty, the walls bare and and cold. The old moth eaten rug that she remembered playing upon with her one good Sentacles toy when she was young had disappeared too. Instead a thick, opulent crimson carpet stared back at her, and upon it rested two unfamiliar high backed seats, both silhouetted by a blazing fire that roared viciously in the hearth.

The seats were arranged so that one was positioned with its back to her, making her unable to see the individual seated in it. The other was turned with its back to the fire, and its occupant was someone she recognised all too well. He was slouched casually in the seat, his thick dark hair tumbling down to his shoulders while the corners of his neatly trimmed beard were being tugged upward by his sly, knowing grin.

"Ares!" Callisto gasped, doing her best to hide her surprise and failing miserably. For a brief moment, the taunting laughter in her head died as the God of War's smile widened.

"Pleased to see you too Callisto," he said, glancing about the room as he did so.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, as his eyes came to rest on her once more, "if this is the state of your subconscious, it really does explain an awful lot."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fortunately a much quicker update this time. This chapter was a much easier write than the last time. The dialogue just flowed more cleanly and I had an overall much clearer picture for these events inside my head. Hopefully it should only be a few more chapters to go now before I can tie a bow on this story and call it finished. I'm not going to say how many though, as I've not entirely decided on how I should divide the remainder of the story up yet. Like with my last story, I will probably put up the last two or three chapters together, so there may be a long gap between updates toward the end. It doesn't mean I've abandoned the story, it just means I'm concentrating on getting the ending right and uploading it all together so people don't get lost as to what is going on, or forget important details.

A big thank you again to everyone who is continuing to stick with this now very _loooooooong_ story and I hope you are all still enjoying it.

I'll be back again soon with another update should all keep going smoothly.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Beginnings to Endings

**Chapter Fifteen: Beginnings to Endings**

Callisto stood in complete silence, her jaws clenched tightly together in a quiet fury directed solely at the God of War reclining nonchalantly in one of the two seats before her.

"Well?" he said, his voice filled with that slick self assuredness it always carried. It was that same self possession that had so infuriated her in the past. She had only seen him lose it on a couple of occasions and in every instance, it had been either highly amusing or deeply satisfying for her. Sometimes, even both at once.

"Well what?" she snapped at him.

"Aren't you going to say hello to your old friend?" Ares smiled devilishly.

"We're not friends," Callisto retorted.

Ares only shrugged in response.

"I suppose not," he nodded. ""But you _did_ take the Pneuma. You came looking for me for aid, and lo and behold, here I am, ready and willing, so maybe, just maybe, a touch more civility is in order, don't you think?"

Callisto gave a sharp mocking laugh. Was he really serious.

"Civility?" she sneered, "from me? Have you forgotten exactly who it is you're talking to?"

"How could I ever forget someone as..." he paused for a moment as if searching for a word then allowed a small, sardonic grin to tug at the corner of his mouth, "...memorable as you?"

Callisto scowled at him suspiciously. She was certain he was up to something, but then it hardly took a stroke of genius to figure that one out. This was Ares she was dealing with. He was always up to something, and clearly this time it involved trying to drive her crazy. Well, for once in her life she was not going to rise to the bait.

"Don't try and play games with me Ares," she said, her voice as low and even as she could keep it. "I'm not in the mood."

"Who said anything about this being a game?" Ares replied, his tone suddenly losing its keen, mocking edge, and instead, becoming deadly earnest. "I can assure you, the situation has never been more serious."

"Then why all of this then?" she demanded.

Ares regarded her quizzically.

"Why all of what?" he said.

Callisto gestured at the living room around them angrily.

"This!" she hissed. "The little nightmare parade! My home, my village, the people I've met, all about to be massacred, and now you and whoever that is in the other chair with you!"

She gestured to the seat next to the one in which Ares was sitting. It was still turned away from her, its occupant obscured from sight.

"Palaces of the mind, Callisto," Ares replied cryptically as he clambered up from the chair and crossed to stand before the nearby hearth, the flames within it crackling gently.

"Or should I say hovel," he added derisively as he slid his finger across the hearth in a faintly disgusted fashion, lifting it to stare at the thick coating of dust that now covered its tip with thinly disguised disdain.

"I mean seriously," he said, turning his head and raising his eyebrows at her, "don't you ever clean in here?"

"Are you offering to be my maid?" Callisto replied snarkily. Ares flashed her a rakish grin.

"What would be the job benefits?" he asked.

"None whatsoever," Callisto replied, and cocked her head slightly when Ares tilted an eyebrow at her.

"What can I say?" she smiled wickedly. "I'm a harsh mistress."

Ares lifted a hand to his beard and rubbed at it thoughtfully, a sly smile pulling up the corners of his mouth as he looked her up and down with a hungry eyed gaze that made her suddenly feel the urge to take a long, cleansing bath.

"I do seem to recall as much," he leered, and Callisto felt her skin crawl. She remembered their time together all too well, and if there were any memories she could expunge, given the choice beyond the obvious memory of Cirra burning, Ares getting to lay his hands on her would be the next one in line.

She frowned though. Something Ares had just said had sounded strangely familiar.

"Palaces of the mind?" she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What did you mean by that?" Where _had_ she heard that term before? Charon had spoken to her about it as they made the return journey across the Styx after she had struck her deal with Zeus and Hades. It had been something about the Styx itself not really being a river, but instead the barrier between worlds. It appeared as a river, only because that was what Hades willed it to look like.

"The Pneuma," Ares replied, as if that should answer anything and everything. She just tilted an eyebrow at him, and in return, he let out an exasperated sigh.

"You made this place," he said, sweeping his broad arms in a gesture that encompassed the entire room. "All of it, right down to the stones of the mantelpiece over there. These are your memories, Callisto. Your feelings and emotions; they're the building blocks that it's all created from. The Pneuma provides the mortar holding it all together."

"You mean this place isn't really real?" Callisto said, trying desperately to wrap her head around the strange concept.

Ares nodded.

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "You could say its real to you though, and in the end isn't that all that really matters?"

Callisto gritted her teeth in a barely controlled snarl. The anger and frustration seething inside her was beginning to grow. She did not have time for this! Every moment that passed here was more time wasted back in the real world. Time that she did not have.

Time that Leonidas did not have.

"Would you just give me a straight answer Ares?" she snapped sharply, her temper flaring in vexation. Suddenly, a powerful and uexpected jolt cracked through the stone around them, causing Callisto to lose her balance and stumble slightly. Her hand shot out to brace against a nearby wall so that she could better steady herself, while all about them, great streams of dust fell from the rafters over head. As she regained her composure, she noticed Ares glancing about warily. His eyes met hers and Callisto felt her heart skip a beat. What was it that could make a God of War look nervous?

She was about to speak again when, emanating from somewhere in the distance, the sounds of screaming began. Xena's army had begun its attack on the village.

Cautiously, she sniffed at the air for smoke, but was relieved when all she could detect were the few wisps of it trailing out from the hearth. The fire had not begun yet, but it would, and soon. She remembered that acrid, burning smell of smoke more clearly and vividly than any other sensation in her life. Even to this day, after so many years of distance from it, the mere scent of smoke still made her heart ache and as the distant sounds of the attack grew ever closer, the hollow core that had been carved out of her by the deaths of her family grew a little larger as she listened to Cirra die for the second time.

Then at the edge of hearing, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, that same mocking laughter that haunted her nights and taunted her days began to sound again.

"Soon," it cooed softly and sweetly in her ear, "very soon."

Another powerful jolt ran through the house, the stones grinding loudly against each other, while overhead the ceiling beams creaked ominously, as if some great pressure was being placed upon them.

Callisto felt her blood run cold. Something was wrong here. Terribly, terribly wrong.

"What's going on Ares?" she demanded. "You know more about how all of this works than me."

The war god only shook his head.

"We don't have time to go into the finer points of your twisted psychology," he said. "Your dose of the Pneuma was only small. It's fast acting and you'll be awake again soon. She wants to get to you before that happens."

"Wait a minute," Callisto said, her confusion growing with each passing moment. "You can hear her? The laughing and the taunting? You can hear all of that?"

"Of course I can!" Ares retorted. "We're inside your head remember, and so is she."

"Then who is she?" Callisto snapped. "Why do I keep hearing her laughing at me?"

Ares rolled his eyes in frustration.

"You'd know better than me," Ares said, shooting her an annoyed look. When Callisto just stared back at him blankly he gave a frustrated groan.

"This is your mind," he reminded her, "your psyche, or weren't you listening the first time. Deep down, you already know who she is. You made her after all, and she's nothing and everything to you at the same time. She's the thing you fear the most in all the world, and by extension, the thing you hate more than anything else. She's the source of all your pain and suffering, and deep down here, in the blackest pits of your subconscious, she has all the power. More power even than me..."

"Then why come here?" Callisto said angrily. "Why make me do this if its so dangerous? Why couldn't you just come to me the way you always have in the past?"

"Because I had no other choice!" Ares snapped at her, sounding more than a little resentful. "Zeus has forbidden any of the other gods from getting involved, but me especially because..."

"...Because you're hardly the most dependable of his kids, right?"

Ares shot her a dark look.

"Aw," she cooed childishly, doing her best to hammer home the barbed insult now she had managed to find an opening. "What's the matter, Ares? Did the evil little blonde girl upset the big bad God of War? Was daddy less than happy when he learned you tried to sell him out to Dahak?"

"And whose fault is it that I had to switch sides," Ares demanded, rhetorically.

Callisto had to try hard not let her mouth hang open in stunned disbelief.

"You can't be serious!" she said, placing her hand on her chest as she did so. "You're blaming me!?"

"You and I were both playing the odds with Dahak, and you know it," Ares snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "I wasn't the one who teamed up with Hope, and I certainly didn't help her get as far as she did. I just saw which way the wind was blowing and took advantage of the situation. A situation you helped set up! I had to make the choices I did because of you!"

Callisto clapped her hand to her forehead in disbelief. Was he really saying what she thought she was hearing?

Deep in her gut, she could feel the anger stirring hotter and harder as outside, the distant sounds of Cirra's dying breaths drew inexorably closer. As they did so, the taunting laughter grew stronger, sounding closer now, and Callisto knew, almost by habit considering how many times she had relived this attack in her mind's eye over the years, that it would not be long until the chaos reached the farmhouse. She could feel a dull ache at the back of her throat, and she sniffed quietly. With that chaos would come the fire; the self same fire that had destroyed everything she had ever held dear.

"You're unbelievable, Ares, you know that?" she sneered angrily, trying desperately to ignore the screams outside and that all too familiar gnawing hollowness in her heart. "You try to switch sides, betray your entire family and breed a weird, faintly creepy army of human-demon-god hybrids in a way that even gives me the chills, then, when your little pet that bites back, Xena, messes up your plan, like she always does I might add, you manage to come to the conclusion that all of that mess is somehow my fault?"

"You're damned right I do!" Ares shouted back at her, his temper finally beginning to fray around the edge, much to Callisto's satisfaction.

"Because of you, I'm practically a pariah on Olympus now! The others don't want to talk to me, and Zeus has shut me out of any of his plans for how to deal with Cronus should your little redemption mission here fail. The Pneuma was the only option I had left! Zeus doesn't police our connections to our Oracles, so this was the only way I could speak with you. He seems to think that you can handle all of this Cronus business on your own..."

Callisto snapped her fingers together at that.

"Ah ha!" she announced triumphantly, much to Ares' apparent surprise. "I knew it! I _knew _Zeus and Hades brought me back to deal with Cronus and..." her voice trailed off as she began to truly process what it was he had just said.

"Hey!" she said, suddenly offended and indignant in equal measure. "You don't think I can cut it do you?"

Ares gave a dry snort of amusement.

"Of course I don't," he said. "Not without a little help anyway. Zeus is putting on his best king's face for the others, but he's not fooling me. I know when he's afraid, and I've never seen him more terrified in my entire life than he is right now. Cronus is more dangerous than he's letting on, and I'm not even sure how many of the others he's even told about it."

Callisto frowned at him.

"If Cronus is really such a threat;" she began, "if he's big and scary enough to make the King of the Gods go weak at the knees, then what chance in Tartarus am I supposed to stand against him?"

Ares shot her a look of complete and total disdain.

"You have got to be joking," he sneered. "You really think my father would send _you_ against the former lord of the Titans? That would be like throwing a pebble to try and stop a tidal wave. It's not Cronus you're supposed to stop. It's his lackeys."

"The Followers..." Callisto breathed, and Ares gave a relieved nod.

"Finally, she gets it," he said, tossing his head back as if in silent thanks to the rafters over head. "Think about it Callisto. Of course we don't want Cronus freed, and Zeus wants to put a stop to it before it can ever even happen. Mortal belief is what fuels us, makes us strong. If Cronus were to be unleashed, it would be a sign of weakness on our part, a pure display of ineffectiveness as dangerous to us as Cronus himself, and believe me when I say, Cronus is dangerous enough all on his own. If you mortals can defeat him, without Zeus' aid, its a win win for the gods. We don't have to risk ourselves in a second Titanomachy, and some temple priest somewhere will doubtless end up giving at least one of us the credit for the whole thing anyway."

"That's what I love about the gods," Callisto jeered. "You all have so much class."

Ares only shrugged as if to say 'what did you expect?'

"But I don't even know what it is they're up to," she protested. "How can I foil their plans if I don't even know what it is they're planning?"

"That's where I come in," Ares replied smartly. "You have all the pieces you need. You just require a little help putting them all in place."

He moved closer to her, his eyes focused intently on hers.

"Think, Callisto," he said, his gaze steady and unflinching. "Why did you attack my Oracle?"

"Because she had the Pneuma..." she said, and Ares nodded making circular gestures with his hand to encourage her to continue.

"Go on," he urged.

"...and so do the Followers," she said, starting to put the pieces together. She turned a questioning glance on him. "But why do they even want it?"

"Practical considerations, I suppose," Ares said. "The Pneuma has been used as a test of character or a right of passage for centuries. You know the sort I'm sure; confront your passions, your hates, your fears, and should you not be lost to it, you might just emerge with a greater wisdom and clarity at the other side. Its how the more puritanical members of my family decide which mortals are even worthy of being spoken to. Apollo in particular loves the stuff."

"And it can make a pretty useful indoctrination tool as well," Callisto said, as fresh thoughts began to scratch at the back of her mind and she remembered Marsus and the other Followers, unconscious and under its effects. The answers she was looking for were close. She could almost taste them.

"Keep going," Ares said, beginning to move around her in slowly decreasing circles as she ran everything she had learned over the past couple of days through her mind. What had Miranda said about the Pneuma? She remembered that the temple priests of Ares had tried to seal off all the springs of it that ran throughout the Spartan region, presumably so that they would have sole access to it. Were there other springs of it then? Ones that the temple did not know of? Or maybe even ones they did?

"They have to be getting a supply of it from somewhere..." she muttered to herself, but Ares nodded encouragingly as he circled behind her.

"Getting closer," he said, his fingers sliding sensually up to her shoulders, but Callisto ignored them, too deeply lost in thought as she was. Instead, she drummed her fingers thoughtfully against her hips, becoming so enraptured by the puzzle that Ares and the room around her may as well never have existed.

What had the Followers been doing in the city? They had killed Hutâna, she had figured out that much, and all to ensure that the war between the Persians and the Spartans would take place. They needed death, and war on such a scale would doubtless bring it to them. It was all part of some grand scheme; some massive picture that no matter how far back she tried to step from it, she could not make the entirety of it out. The Pneuma had to be a part of the puzzle too, the missing piece that, when placed correctly, would complete the whole picture for her.

"...but where?" She bit her lower lip, wracking her brains to try and unravel it all.

Then it hit her.

"Underground!" she said suddenly, the answer leaping upon her in a moment of purest revelation. "The Pneuma comes from underground springs. It's the tomb of Lycurgus! It has to be! There must be a Pneuma spring there! They know where it is!"

Ares stepped in close, the short bristling hair of his beard scratching gently against her cheek.

"Bingo," he whispered softly in her ear.

Callisto whirled to face him, her heart suddenly racing.

"The tomb can undo it all!" she said, almost sounding excited. "That's why they were trying to kill Monocles! They didn't want Leonidas to find it! If Monocles can discover its location, we can stop the war before it can ever start, and Leonidas doesn't have to die!"

Ares stepped back from her, folding his arms as he did so, a look of disappointment on his face.

"Aaaaand just like that, you're way off base again," he said, shaking his head as he did so.

Callisto's brow knitted together, her spirits suddenly sinking again.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped. "Stop the war with the Persians, stop all that death, stop the barrier collapsing, and the Followers plans are undone. Leonidas and Sparta will be saved! All of Greece will be saved from Cronus and I'll have my ticket to Elysium. Everyone's a winner!"

Ares smiled smugly at her.

"When you put it that bluntly, yes, however, you're missing a crucial detail I'm afraid."

Callisto's frown darkened.

"But you said I knew everything I needed to," she said.

"It would appear I was mistaken."

Callisto rolled her eyes.

"Do I have to ask what that detail is?" She said with weary resignation.

Ares shook his head again.

"You could try," he said, "but unfortunately, I wouldn't tell you what it is either way. If you don't know by now, then Zeus will almost certainly figure out what has happened if I tell you, and then, well, lets just say my father doesn't take kindly to being directly disobeyed."

Callisto's anger flared, blazing hot inside her, and the room trembled around them, tiny fissures spreading throughout the thick stone walls like a huge network of spider webs. Ares glanced at them warily out of the corner of his eye.

"Am I going to have to _make_ you tell me?" Callisto hissed.

The God of War chuckled derisively.

"Please Callisto," he sneered. "You're embarrassing yourself. When you were a god, you might have stood half a chance, but now..."

He cocked his head slightly, his gaze almost pitying.

"...Well, now you're pretty much nothing. What was it you called me once? Washed up and wrung out? I believe that's an apt description for your current state."

Callisto's teeth gritted together, her jaw muscles bunching like bands of iron.

"Zeus might disagree," she snapped savagely. "At least he seems to recognise my talents. He's entrusted this mission to me after all."

Ares' laugh was loud and rich and not at all what she had expected. It echoed off the room's stone walls, vicious and cutting, knifing through her and right down to the bone with a keenness she had not thought Ares possessed.

"Exactly the opposite actually," the war god managed from between wracking bouts of laughter. "He didn't choose you because you're special, Callisto."

"Why did he choose me then!?" Callisto snapped savagely, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

As his laughter finally subsided, Ares straightened, his whole demeanour changing before her eyes from one of complete amusement to one of sneering imperiousness. His eyes flashed, cold and hard as ancient steel, as he regarded her.

"He chose you because you're expendable," he said.

Callisto felt her stomach lurch sickeningly as the burning anger inside her flared hard and strong, scorching and consuming all other emotions as the taunting laughter sounded louder and closer than ever before. Of course that was the reason she had been chosen. She had been a fool if she had ever believed otherwise. Why else would they choose her to be their champion when they already had the likes of Hercules and Xena to do their dirty work for them?

Slowly, somewhere deep in the earth beneath their feet, a low base rumble sounded, growing in severity and intensity, until it shook the living room in which they stood. The already cracked stone began to splinter loudly as fresh fissures ran hither and thither across their surfaces, and again, she could not help but notice Ares glance at them warily.

"It will be a tremendous battle you know," he said conversationally, pretending as if he had not noticed the room shaking all about him. "Thermopylae I mean. It will live on in the annals of history. Leonidas' death will be a glorious one! One that any Spartan would be proud to achieve. It will be his moment, Callisto, the one shining point in his life that will turn him into the legend he so richly deserves to be."

"You could help him!" Callisto hissed, reaching out and clinging to the anger insider her now. It was the one constant she could hold onto. The one thing that she knew for a fact would never fail her, never betray her.

It would always be there.

Waiting.

"First Miranda, and now you!" she continued harshly. "Is he just destined to be abandoned by everyone!?"

Ares fixed her with an even stare.

"I have other concerns," he said darkly. "Stopping the war outright won't stop Cronus, Callisto. It might even hasten his return."

Callisto shook her head at him.

"I couldn't give a crap about Cronus!" she shouted furiously, "Or any of the rest of you for that matter! You can all twist in the wind for all I care!"

The laughter was everywhere now, seeming to echo in from all sides as Callisto felt her anger mounting. She could not let this happen. She could not let someone else die when there was a chance she could stop it. Leonidas was not going to be like her family, or like Silas and Atrix, all of them dead now and all because she had not been able to do what needed to be done.

"He's a Spartan King!" she snapped. "He's even a descendant of Lycurgus! He's supposed to be a favoured son to you; They all are! And now you're just going to turn your back on them?"

Ares shrugged, but said nothing.

"You can't!" Callisto protested the anger churning blackly beneath her skin, and roaring in the pit of her stomach like a blazing inferno. "You're the God of War for Tartarus' sake! You can't just abandon him!"

"Watch me," Ares replied, turning with a wave of his hand so that he could head for the living room door, which, Callisto remembered, led back outside into the farmhouse's front yard.

Something about the manner in which he dismissed her, the casual disregard he showed when he turned his back, stoked the fire in her belly hotter still, until the fury burned so dark and fierce, the only thing she could think about was taking his face and pounding on it with her bare hands until there was nothing left but bloody mulch.

She flexed her fingers, their tips hooking into claws and then, with a furious scream, she dove at him, landing squarely across his broad back. Ares grunted in mild surprise as she swung her legs up to wrap tightly around his waist, while one of her arms snaked around his neck at the same time that she braced the other against the back of his skull in a vice like choke hold. The big man stumbled forward slightly, arms swinging out wide to either side of him for better balance as Callisto clung on grimly.

"Not good enough Ares!" she hissed darkly in his ear. "You're going to help me! You're going to help Leonidas, and if you don't... well, lets just say you won't be the first god I've killed." she twisted savagely for emphasis, and Ares gave a sharp intake of breath as her arm closed off his windpipe.

"Aren't you... forgetting... something?" he managed to choke out from beneath the arm squeezing his throat.

"And what would that be deary?" Callisto asked, her tone all mock sweetness.

"You're just... a mortal... now..." Ares gasped. "And me... Well... I'm not!"

She felt his hand close tightly around her forearm, his fingers stronger and surer than steel. He pried her grip loose as if she was nothing more than a child. At the same time, his other hand reached back, gripping her tightly by her leathers. Suddenly he lurched forward, bending at the waist and using the momentum to twist her off his back and hurl her bodily across the farmhouse living room.

Callisto howled in pain as she hit the living room door, upside down, spine first, and with such tremendous force that the wood splintered, then burst outward with an explosive crack. She sailed out into the farmhouse's front yard, landing hard on her side in the dry dirt, and rolling with the impact. Finally the world seemed to stop spinning in circles around her as she came to a stop, and managed, groggily, to clamber back to her feet again.

The scent of smoke was thick in the air around her, its acrid stink hitting the back of her throat and making her cough bitterly. She lifted a hand to her mouth to block out the smoke and glanced back over her shoulder, already knowing exactly what it was she would see.

It did not make actually seeing it any easier.

At her back, Cirra was burning, silhouetted figures moving back and forth among the buildings, some fleeing for their lives, others stalking like predators as Xena's army set about wiping the village from the face of the earth. A strong wind tugged at her hair and Callisto began to turn. Maybe this time it would be different. She was here now after all, older and stronger. Maybe this time she could change things.

She was about to start down into the village when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She looked back to see Ares standing behind her. He cocked his head slightly.

"I wouldn't go down there if I were you," he said. "She's still waiting for you, and I think she's getting impatient."

With a vicious snarl, Callisto span on her heel, her hand lashing out in a powerful flat palm strike that caught Ares squarely across the jaw.

The God of War barely even flinched.

Callisto's snarl turned into a furious scream, and she redoubled her efforts, throwing a series of rapid strikes aiming for all of Ares' vital organs. She was not even certain gods had vital organs, but it seemed worth a shot. Kidneys or no, she was certain a straight fingered jab to their approximate location would still hurt.

That was if she could even get the hit to land.

Ares danced back away from her, moving with a quick footed grace that was surprising considering his impressive size. No matter how hard she tried, nothing would connect. Not a kick nor a strike so much as touched him.

"I was only trying to give you some advice, Callisto," he said, ducking beneath a particularly vicious elbow strike. "You're in more danger here than you realise..."

Callisto ignored him, using his moments distraction to faint left, then right, then left again, and as Ares moved to intercept the hit from the left, she pulled it short and swung in hard again from the right. This time the hit connected, but not the way she had expected or wanted it to.

Ares' arm moved with a quickness she had not thought possible, whipping up to catch her strike with the same speed and surety of a biting cobra. There was a loud slap of knuckles against flesh as he caught her fist in the palm of his hand, his fingers closing around it with an unrelenting grip before she could yank it back.

"...but If this is really the way you want it, then who am I to argue," he finished with a resigned sigh. He gave a cruel twist with his wrist, forcing Callisto's arm to contort at a terrible angle. Her pained scream was barely out her mouth, when Ares' follow up backhand took her hard across the face, sending her sailing sideways to slam against a nearby tree with such force, Callisto was almost certain all the ribs down her left hand side had broken.

Leaning against the tree's thick trunk, she managed to keep herself upright, but her head was pounding, and her back and side throbbed painfully.

"Why are you stopping me!?" she demanded, rounding on Ares as best she could manage as he strode purposefully across the yard toward her, cracking his neck as he went. "I'm just trying to do what's right aren't I!? What Zeus wants me to do! What Xena _would_ do! Isn't that just what everyone wants!? For me to be just like her!? Just another little do gooder champion, wandering the world and righting wrongs here, there and everywhere!? Why won't you just let me be like that!?"

Ares shook his head at her, and for a moment Callisto thought he looked genuinely remorseful. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers as cold and hard as ever.

"The world doesn't need another Xena, Callisto," he sneered, pulling his fist back for a strike that would finish the fight once and for all, "and it certainly doesn't need you."

As he spoke, Callisto felt something snap inside her and suddenly, the fire was upon them. Ares froze mid blow as the fire raced impossibly over the open ground, carried by the winds that fed its ravenous appetite until it was all around them, blazing hot and fierce, its flames hungry and tall.

Ares glanced about himself warily, then suddenly, his eyes widened. Callisto followed his gaze and felt her breath catch in her throat. Someone was walking inside the maelstrom of heat and fire, a figure little more than a black shadow among the flames, but with each moment that passed, it grew closer, and more distinct. The laughter pounded in her head now, louder than she could ever remember; so loud even that it threatened to split her skull like an overripe melon.

"Soon my sweet!" it crowed triumphantly. "Soon!"

Ares turned and looked at her, his eyes narrowed and calculating.

"But not yet," he said.

He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers...

* * *

...and Callisto awoke, her eyes flying open as she let out a pained gasp, reaching up to clutch at her side, her breath coming in laboured inhalations, as if she were a fish scooped from a lake and left to suffocate on dry land. Every muscle in her body was knotted and tense, her spine aching and stretched taught above the chill stone she had been lying on.

"Steady," came a soft female voice. "Steady Callisto. It's over now. Can you hear me? It's all over now."

She felt a damp cooling cloth press down across her forehead, and a surprisingly gentle hand find her own. She gripped it tight, her eyes spinning wildly as she tried to recall just what exactly was happening and where she was.

A woman's face came into view, and Callisto almost cried out. The woman looked like Xena! Without thinking, her fist flew straight and true, catching the woman hard under the chin and staggering her backward. Callisto was already struggling to sit upright. Her back screamed in protest, but obeyed nevertheless, and she managed to swing her legs from the slab and out over the floor, her eyes whipping desperately from left to right as she did so.

Nearby a fire was burning in a hearth with a heavy looking vat bubbling steadily away above it. For a brief moment, the image of Ares and that strange third individual seated with their back to her flashed unbidden across her thoughts, only to be replaced by a sudden rush of recollection.

She let out a long low breath of relief. She had been under the influence of the Pneuma. None of what she had just seen had really happened. Cirra had not burned a second time, she had not stabbed Leonidas, and Ares had not just beaten the stuffing out of her. Had it even been Ares? The more she thought about it, the less certain she became.

She looked slowly around the room again, taking in more detail this time as she tested her ribs with gently probing fingers. After a moment or two, she let out another relieved sigh. Nothing was broken. All around her, the room was lit by flickering firelight. She was sitting on a stone slab, and beyond the slab itself, and a small table with a pitcher of water, a small ceramic bowl and a set of clean white cloths upon it sitting in the corner, the room seemed to be fairly empty.

Callisto's eyes widened. She knew this place! She was in the temple of Ares, in Sparta no less. This was the Pneuma chamber and the woman, the one she had just punched, was...

She turned to see Miranda, already recovering from her unexpected assault and glaring daggers at her.

Callisto gave a sheepish shrug of her shoulders, and then winced as she felt sharp, stabbing pains course through her neck and into the base of her already throbbing skull.

"You know," she said, "you could have given me a little more of a heads up as to what that stuff was going to do to me."

"How was I supposed to know!" The other woman snapped. "Everyone sees something different."

She rubbed tenderly at her chin and gave a dry laugh.

"Still," she said ruefully, "I suppose I had that one coming."

She stooped to pick up the damp cloth from where it had fallen and crossed to the pitcher on the table. Dumping the cloth unceremoniously on its wooden surface, she began to fill the ceramic bowl before carrying it back to Callisto.

"Here," she said, handing the bowl over to her. "You should drink this. The Pneuma tends to dehydrate people. You'll probably have a headache for a couple of hours and feel thirsty double that."

Callisto nodded and took the bowl from her, tilting her head back and gulping down its cool, clear contents in a single swallow. The chill feeling of the water sliding down her throat felt wonderful, a calming balm upon her frayed nerves.

"You know," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and holding out the bowl for Miranda as memories of Ares and what he had said to her began to fill her thoughts, "that god of yours is a real ass."

Miranda rolled her eyes and reached out to take the bowl from her, crossing back to the table to refill it after having done so.

"Care to tell me what it is you saw?" she asked, ignoring Callisto's sleight against Ares, and instead forcing a conversational tone into her voice. "I imagine someone with your history must have quite a few terrible things lurking under the surface."

Callisto frowned as she tried to remember. Like her dreams, so much of what had just happened now seemed hazy, as if it had not even truly been her living it. Instead, much of it felt half imagined, like the way she had pictured stories told to her by her father when she was a child.

"I saw..." she began, but trailed off when memories of taunting laughter and scorching fire against a black and starless night sky filled her mind.

"...I'm not sure what I saw," she continued. "I just remember fire, and..."

Her frown deepened as memories of a figure silhouetted against those terrible and hungry flames flitted briefly across her thoughts, and a small shudder ran up her spine.

"...shadow." she managed finally.

"Did it work though?" Miranda asked. "Did you get the answers you were looking for?"

Callisto nodded. Of all the half remembered scraps she could piece together inside her head, the one thing that was still as clear as day was what she had learned. The Followers knew the location of the Tomb of Lycurgus. If she could just find it...

Letting out a tired groan, she stretched to an accompanying series of loud pops from her spine as she did so.

"I have to get going," she said glancing about, with a questioning expression on her face.

"Where's Leonidas?" she asked. "I need to talk to him."

Miranda shook her head.

"He's not here," she said, and Callisto turned on her rapidly.

"What do you mean?" she said worriedly. "What happened to him? Where did he..."

Miranda held up a hand, cutting her off mid sentence.

"Relax would you," she said. "Demosthenes came here hunting for you. To throw him off the scent, Leonidas had to head back to his Palace. You should try to rest a little longer. The Pneuma takes a lot out of people. I've known temple initiates take days to recover after only experiencing doses half the strength of the one you took. Leonidas said to send you on after him only when you were able."

"I'm able now," Callisto grunted, sliding as nimbly as she could from the slab, which, truth be told was not that nimbly at all. Her legs felt weak, and she could feel small spasms in her lower back as they struggled to take her weight.

Miranda watched with a dry look of 'I told you so' painted across her features.

"Of course you are," she sneered sarcastically. "Very able indeed."

Callisto rounded on the other woman angrily to bite off a retort, but was silenced by the room lurching dizzyingly around her. She reached out with a steadying hand, propping herself up against the slab, while Miranda simply folded her arms and regarded her steadily.

"You care about Leonidas, don't you?" Callisto swallowed, tasting weak traces of bile in the back of her throat, but doing her best to ignore the other woman's jibe.

"I do," Miranda replied.

"Well, come sunrise he and his men are going to be riding out of the city, and straight to their deaths," Callisto snapped, pointing directly at her. "Your prediction, remember? Doesn't that bother you at all?"

Miranda only stared back at her coldly

"Of course it does," she said finally.

"Well I can stop it!" Callisto replied. "My little Pneuma trip helped me figure out how, so, unless you're particularly eager to watch the man you still have feelings for set out on a suicide mission, you'll let me leave, and leave right now."

Miranda continued to regard her steadily for a moment longer, before finally giving a small nod.

"Alright," she said, picking up her short sword and buckle as she walked past Callisto and opened the door that led out onto the main temple floor. "I had some of the initiates prepare your horse. It's saddled and waiting outside. I suggest you keep away from the main streets. Demosthenes is not a fool. He knew you were here, and his men probably haven't gone far. You should be cautious."

Callisto walked out past the other woman, doing her best to hold her back straight and keep her chin high as she went, in spite of her trembling knees.

"Cautious?" she said, "Me? Now where would be the fun in that?"

"I'm serious, Callisto," Miranda replied, following her out into the dimly lit altar chamber and over toward the temple doors. "I may be an Oracle, but Ares doesn't show me all of the future. Just the bits he thinks, in his divine wisdom, that I need to know."

Callisto gave a dry, sneering laugh.

"I would hardly call Ares wise," she said. "backstabbing and two faced, yes, but never wise."

"Sounds like someone not a million miles away from me now," Miranda said pointedly.

Callisto flashed her a look of complete, unbridled innocence.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, adopting a tone of mock incomprehension.

The doors to the temple creaked open, and Callisto walked slowly out into the chill night air. In the sky above, the stars were already dimming and a pale light was beginning to stain the distant horizon. Dawn was approaching but was still probably an hour a way. The fresh air hit her the same way someone dumping her in a horse's water trough would have done so. The musty cobwebs that had been clouding her mind since awakening were blown away almost immediately, and she began to feel life slowly creeping back into her deadened senses.

Her horse was standing nearby, saddled and tethered to a short hitching post, just as Miranda had promised.

"Well then," she said, straightening with a fresh sense of invigoration, "It's time I was getting back to saving your King's royal behind."

She turned and grinned at Miranda.

"I'd say it's been a pleasure," she said, "but we both know it would be an utter lie."

She was turning to leave when she felt the other woman's hand on her shoulder and she turned back to see Miranda watching her levelly.

"Just do me one favour would you," the Oracle said, and Callisto glanced at the hand that still gripped her shoulder.

"Do you want to try taking your hand off me first?" She said.

"Please," Miranda continued, releasing her grasp on Callisto's shoulder. "As repayment for my help with the Pneuma."

A very faint note of pleading had entered into her tone. So faint was it, that Callisto might not have even noticed it at all, had she not already become accustomed to the sounds of pleading and begging during her years of raiding.

"Go on then," she said, giving the other woman a questioning look.

"Just promise me you'll listen to him," Miranda said.

"Listen to him?" Callisto said, not even trying to hide her confusion. "About what?"

"It doesn't matter what about! Just listen to him!" the other woman snapped impatiently.

"After everything you've done in your life, I think its the least you can do..." she continued sharply, before adding, in a softer tone of voice that Callisto had to strain to make out "...for the both of us."

Callisto frowned at the other woman, but only nodded.

"Doesn't sound like too much of a challenge," she said, turning and clambering gracefully up into the saddle of her horse. The animal stirred slightly beneath her, but Callisto did not attempt to soothe it.

Miranda laughed dryly at her.

"For you," she sneered, "I'd say it's the hardest thing you'll ever have to do."

Callisto shot the other woman an irritated glanced as she turned her horse out and away from the temple, its hooves ringing hollowly off the paved stone streets in the silence of the night.

"You know something Miranda?" she said with a sly grin. "I think that deep down, under all that bitterness and disdain, secretly, you kind of like me."

Miranda stared back at her wearily.

"Just go," she said, and Callisto's smile widened as she urged her horse to gentle trot, leaving the dark marble of the temple in her wake.

"You shouldn't worry," she grinned back over her shoulder, "I know exactly what I'm doing! What could go wrong?"

Her face straightened suddenly.

"Actually," she called back one last time, "best you don't answer that!"

Then her horse rounded a corner in the street, and Miranda and the temple were lost to the night behind her.

* * *

Miranda stood in silence for a long time after Callisto had vanished from view, trying hard to keep her breathing steady. The cold night air bit cruelly at her and she felt a shiver run down her spine. How much longer could she just stand here like this? An hour? Maybe two? Would it even make any difference?

She gave a thick, painful swallow, her throat suddenly very dry as she turned on her heel to face the temple. It was a place that had been as much of a home to her as the noble house she had grown up in, if not maybe even more so. She had so many fond memories from her time here. She remembered the former Oracle having imposed a fast on her and the other initiates, and how she had spearheaded the efforts of a couple of girls of a similar age to sneak out of the temple after dark in search of the food so casually denied them during their waking hours. They had been found out of course, unsurprisingly, and her the Oracle had been less than pleased. She had been made to polish each of the hundred or so various bronze statues dedicated to Ares' glory until the Oracle could see her own reflection in them. Then she had been made to polish them one more time for good measure.

Now though, the temple no long felt like home. Instead it loomed, cruel and stark, a taunting reminder of what was to come, the doors gaping wide before her like a hungry gaping maw, about to swallow her whole.

She could just walk way right now; just turn and walk off up the street, leaving the temple behind her the same way Callisto had done, and never looking back. She envied Callisto in a way. Despite everything the other woman had done, despite all the atrocious acts of petty, small minded sadism and barbarism that she had inflicted, she still managed to maintain an aura of... what exactly... righteousness perhaps? Defiance?

Whatever that strange, ineffable quality was, it gave her the ability to stand tall and unbowed, no matter how hard the world seemed to be trying to bend or break her.

Well, if Callisto could do it, so could she. She was not just some mousey farm girl whose village had been burned to the ground, after all. She was of the Spartan nobility and a chosen Oracle of Ares. She would not let fear seize her so completely as to make her flee.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened and squared her shoulders before stalking up the temple steps and back indoors, out of the cool night breeze.

Inside the main altar chamber, all was as she had left it. The few torches still lit were burning low now, there shadows creeping and crawling sinuously over the stonework. With another deep breath, Miranda hefted her sword and crossed to the nearest torch. Reaching out with a hand that she had to try hard to keep from shaking, she dropped a large, bell-shaped copper cover over the flames, extinguishing them in an instant.

She glanced around herself nervously as the temple grew darker, and the shadows stretched out further, already beginning to consume what little remained of the light.

Slowly, with leaden steps she had to will herself to take each time, Miranda crossed to the next lit torch and extinguished it the same as the last. Again, all was deathly silent as the shadows stretched still further across the chamber. Swallowing nervously she moved from one torch to the next, each time extinguishing it the way she had done the rest, and with each torch the light faded, and with it, a small piece of that defiance she had felt outside died too.

As the final torch was extinguished, she glanced around the now almost completely black chamber, save for the silver light from the stars and rising dawn outside shining in through a number of small windows mounted high over head.

She stood in silence for a long time, almost feeling like she was holding fate at bay through sheer force of will alone.

Then she saw it.

At the corner of her eye, a shadow flickered strangely, crawling over the stone and pawing at the silver light in a way that could not be considered in any way, shape, or form, natural. At least not in the land of the living.

At the sight of the shadow, all the tension and fear seemed to drain out of her as a sudden and profound revelation settled upon her. The time had come. The time all Spartans, men and women both, trained for their entire lives. It did not matter that she was going to die. All that mattered was how she would face it.

Hefting her sword and buckler, she moved to stand before the altar, holding the blade of her weapon out in front of her so that it shone dully in the soft starlight from outside.

"I know you're here," she said aloud to the shadows all about her. "I know that you've come for me."

"Not just you," rasped a dry, emotionless voice that seemed to echo in as her from all sides at once. "Where's Callisto?"

"You're too late I'm afraid," Miranda replied, hoping to Ares that her voice had sounded firm and hard. "She doesn't die here today."

The rasping voice chuckled softly, and it was a sound that made the blood in her veins turn to ice. Like before, the laughter seemed to come from all around her at first, then slowly, as it continued, it changed, narrowing further and further down until it seemed to be coming from a pooling of shadows directly in front of her.

Suddenly the shadows peeled back, like skin sloughing off burned meat, to reveal a tall figure standing before her, clad all in black robes and carrying a long staff with a single silver sickle blade at its end.

"And who told you that?" the figure hissed, cocking his head slightly as he did so.

"My Lord Ares grants me a window through which I may see into the future," Miranda replied. "Or the past. He has shown me much these past few days, about your master, and about you."

Slowly she stepped down from the dais, walking steadily up to the dark robed man. She was surprised that he did not move. Instead, he simply stood, waiting for her to approach him.

"It's so sad," she said, as she stopped within easy reach of him. "What happened to you, what has become _of_ you."

Gently she reached out, taking the coarse material of the hood between her fingers. The stranger did not move. Slowly, almost tenderly, she pulled back the hood until the strange figure's face was exposed. It was a gaunt, palid thing that stared back at her, expressionless and unflinching. He had the look of a man half starved, with hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes. It was those same eyes that almost made her turn and run, the irises and pupils so dark and wide that his eyes may as well have been completely black.

"You were great once," she managed, placing a hand sorrowfully on his cheek. "So full of passion and life. And then came their betrayal. Now all you are is hollow, empty, a shadow, a shell."

The man's head cocked slightly to one side, as if he were listening intently to something.

"Ares has shown you much," he said eventually.

"My Lord blesses me with foresight," she replied serenely.

"Really?" the dark figure said with a tight nod. "Then he must have told you how much this will hurt."

Before Miranda could pull back, his staff arced around behind her, the blade flashing viciously in the soft silver light before burying itself between her shoulders.

Her eyes widened in surprise as the wind was driven out of her by the blow. So stunned was she, that for a moment she did not even fall, instead simply wavering there, breathless and in agony. Then she stumbled slightly, sinking to her knees as the truth her mind had already grasped of what had just happened, began to finally register with her nerves.

"You've..." she gasped painfully, blood flecking her lips as she tried to speak. "...you've killed me."

Somewhere deep in the earth beneath her, she felt the ground begin to shake, tremors hitting the temple like waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. Nearby a number of torches swayed violently, and then crashed to the ground with a loud clang of copper on marble.

The shadowy figure took to a knee beside her, long fingers closing tightly around her chin and lifting her face so that she could look him in the eye one final time.

"You were not the first," he hissed at her, "and so that my Lords freedom is achieved, neither will you be the last."

Miranda stared up at him, blinking as the colour began to leech away from the world around her and the intensity of the tremors began to increase. Then she saw him, a third figure watching her from among the pillars. Like the stranger, he was tall, but there the similarity ended. He had thick dark hair that hung down to his shoulders and wore a short, neatly trimmed beard. He watched her impassively, his eyes hard and calculating, and even through the veil of death closing in on her, Miranda recognised him as the spitting image of the statues that dotted the temple. Suddenly, she felt a familiar feeling flood through her, one final revelation granted to her by her silent watching god in these, her last few moments of life.

She laughed bitterly at the sudden understanding and the precious little comfort it offered her as her fading vision fell upon the gaunt, shadowy stranger one last time.

"You..." she managed with her dying breath, "...are being lied to!"

A frown knotted her killer's brow as she spoke, but Miranda never saw it. Ares had already vanished, and now she was falling backward, down, and down, and down, away from the world above.

Her final thoughts were of Leonidas.

Maybe he would be there to catch her at the bottom.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter had quite a few false starts. There was a lot to try and communicate here, and I really wanted to try and make sure I presented Ares in a way that felt consistent with the show and he and Callisto's relationship. It proved more challenging than I thought it would, and I'm still not sure I really nailed it, but here we are anyway...

Hope you all enjoy, and I know I keep saying this, but this is the home stretch now. Only 4 or 5 more chapters to go (I'd like to do it in 4 but feel like I might be being optimistic) and then we'll be at the end of Part Two, and I will have to start planning out Part Three. I already have an outline for it, but it needs a lot of fleshing out.

Anyway, have fun with this latest chapter and I hope to be back soon with another update.

UPDATE: some more proof reading and a few additions at the chapter's end.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: How to Say Goodbye

**Chapter Sixteen: How to Say Goodbye**

The Inner City was almost completely silent as Callisto's horse trotted gingerly down its streets, the first rays of the dawn sun beginning to edge their way over the tops of the many flat roofed buildings that lined its wide, paved avenues. She remembered a little of the city's layout following her brief passages through it when she had first arrived, and then her game of cat and mouse with the Spartan patrols the following day, but many landmarks were still unfamiliar to her, and she could feel her heart beating steadily but insistently as she picked their way past them.

At each intersection she came to, she would cast furtive glances to either side of her, trying hard to spot any of Demosthenes' patrols, but each street she passed down was as empty as the last. Where were all the soldiers? A dark feeling of apprehension began to settle over her, and in the back of her mind there was a slight but no less nagging sensation that something in Sparta was deeply amiss this morning. Still, she had to move quickly, and the absence of patrols to dodge was proving something of a blessing. With dawn almost upon them, the streets would not stay quiet for long as people began to go about their daily business, and the last thing she wanted was to be caught flat footed, a wanted felon just wandering the streets of the city like a lost child.

At one point, she turned a corner to be faced by a large open plaza, and reined her horse in tightly mid step, the animal twitching agitatedly beneath her as she caught sight of a group of blue cloaked Spartan soldiers disappearing up a side street at the opposite end to her. She frowned as she watched them go. They had not appeared to be searching for her. In fact they had seemed to be in a hurry to be elsewhere. She remained still in her saddle for a moment longer, waiting to see if anyone had noticed her, but was greeted only by the same muted hush that had filled the air since she had departed the temple of Ares. Finally, she let out a deep breath she had not even realised she had been holding, and, with a click of her tongue, spurred her horse on.

The rest of the journey was less eventful, and soon she was turning onto a wide boulevard that must have run for a good four hundred meters, and that was lined on both sides by long, low roofed buildings with simple wooden doors and white washed walls. At the far end, the boulevard opened up into a small square and beyond it were a simple set of old, worn wooden gates surrounded by the equally weathered stone walls of Leonidas' palace.

Urging her mount to a brisker pace, she hurried along the boulevard, and it was not long before she was riding up to the gates themselves. Her horse pranced uneasily as she clutched tightly at the reins and without any real consideration as to what she was doing, she glanced back up the boulevard behind her to check that all was clear, before tilting her head back and calling up to the walls above.

"Hey!" she yelled.

For long moments, no answer came and she shifted in her saddle, scratching at the small of her back in irritation. There had to be some guards up there somewhere. Even this deep into the city, she could not imagine them being so slack as to not have a night watch in place.

"Hey!" She shouted again. "It's Callisto! Where's Leonidas? I need to speak with him!"

Again, there was nothing but silence.

"If you don't open these gates right now, I'm going to break them down for you!" she yelled in frustration, preparing to ride up and pound on the thick old wood with the pommel of her sword.

Suddenly, with a protesting groan of ancient hinges, the gates began to open and Callisto's horse pranced lightly sideways as they swung wide, pushed by a pair of Spartan soldiers, their muslces bunched from the strain, and revealing the palace courtyard beyond. It was all abustle with hundreds of Spartans, each one busily preparing for war.

Callisto gave a quick mental headcount and nodded grimly to herself. Almost exactly three hundred men give or take a couple here and there. They were clustered in small groups around the courtyard, polishing and sharpening swords, and adjusting the fit of their armour. Each one was fully adorned in black leather breast plates and crested helms with the familiar wide, perfectly circular bronze shields slung across their backs. At their sides they carried spears, each one greater in length than the man wielding it was tall, and polished so that its tip would shine brilliantly in the early dawn light.

One particular cluster of men caught her eye. Standing apart from the rest and in deep discussion over a small table, she immediately recognised Sentos, Leonidas' right hand man, who she had met when she first arrived in Sparta. He wore his helmet now, and it was marked by a thick gouge, scored through the bronze just above the right eye. Next to him stood Leonidas himself, his own high crested helm held steadily in the crook of his arm as the two of them studied the same map Callisto had seen the morning before.

Off to the side, leaning with that seemingly casual nonchalance he had that Callisto could actually tell was anything but casual, was Athelis. He had his notched dagger unsheathed so that he could slide a whetstone down its length with a dull scraping sound, and was regarding the Spartans from beneath hooded eyes. His gaze flicked toward Callisto as she rode her horse in through the gates, and he gave her the barest of nods.

"I'd rather you didn't smash my gates down, Callisto" Leonidas said in answer to her earlier threat as she drew nearer to him. He looked up, seeing her for the first time and flashed her a smile. It appeared genuine, but Callisto had learned well how to read the emotions people hid beneath the surface over the years. There was a look of tension behind his eyes now, and something else too, that chilled Callisto to the bone; a look of weary resignation.

"They're over two centuries old," he continued, "and have withstood a hundred attacks in that time, from a hundred different armies. I'm not sure they could withstand you as well."

Callisto slanted an eyebrow at him as she dismounted gracefully from her horse.

"That may just be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she grinned sarcastically, but somewhere deep inside her, a small part of her actually thought it might even be the truth.

Next to Leonidas, Sentos rolled his eyes.

"My King," he interrupted before the conversation could derail any further, "we cannot delay any longer. The Hot Gates are at least a day's hard march from here; longer if we wish to keep the men fresh. If we do not depart soon, we will not be able to reach them before the Persians do."

Leonidas nodded gravely, his good humour disappearing in an instant as he turned back to Callisto.

"Were you successful?" he said. "Did you get the answers we were looking for?"

Callisto sighed frustratedly

"Yes and no," she admitted, doing her best not to think about the image of Cirra in flames, the haunting laughter, and that all too familiar silhouette that had strolled so easily through the blazing inferno. "I got some answers, but I'm not sure how much help they'll be, or even if they were the answers I really wanted in the first place."

For a brief instant, Ares' words sounded, cruel and sharp, in the back of her mind.

"_They chose you because you're expendable,"_

She gave an uncomfortable swallow, and Leonidas frowned at her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. Callisto only shook her head.

"Nothing," she said a touch too sharply. "One thing I do know though, is that the Followers are more involved in this than we thought."

Athelis perked up at that, straightening from his slouched stance against the wall and tucking the notched dagger back into its sheath with a rasping hiss.

"How involved?" he asked curiously.

Callisto shot him an impatient glance. They did not have time to be entertaining his vendetta... and for a brief moment that thought gave her pause. Once, her own vendetta was all she had lived for. It had driven her forward her entire life, like some great engine powered by the hatred she held in her heart for Xena. Now though, what was it that was driving her forward? It certainly was not Xena, and that realisation alone was enough to surprise her. She could not remember when exactly it had changed so completely. Even after Hope had killed Solan, there had still been some strange, inexplicable link between the two of them. Now though, she was not sure if she really felt anything. Was it Elysium then? If she had asked herself the same question the day before, she knew she would have said yes, but again, now she was not so certain.

"Very involved," she replied simply to Athelis, before turning back to face Leonidas again and doing her best to put the unpleasant thoughts she was having to one side. "Up to their eyes in it kind of involved. They know where the tomb is. It's why they wanted Monocles dead; to stop him finding it and stop you being able to use it to march the whole Spartan army to war."

Leonidas regarded her steadily.

"You really believe that?" he said.

"Oh come on Leonidas!" Callisto gave an exasperated groan as she spoke. "It fits perfectly! How much more proof do you need! You're being played, all of you! Sparta, the Persians, You, Nestus, Demosthenes, Xerxes; you're all marching the beat of Pelion's twisted little drum! Even Miranda agrees with me!"

Leonidas continued to stare at her for a moment longer, then turned to Sentos.

"Begin the preparations," he said. "Upon my return, we march."

Sentos gave a tight, controlled nod, then span on his heel and strode away, motioning to a nearby group of soldiers as he went, who immediately fell in beside him as he began to announce orders to them.

Leonidas turned back to face her, his shoulders sagging slightly now that none of his men had their eyes on him.

"I don't need any more proof Callisto," he said, "Your word is good enough for me."

Callisto opened her mouth to protest again, then snapped it shut when she realised just what it was he had said.

"It is?" she said, feeling more than a little confused. Did he truly believe her? Honestly? She felt something strange at that, an odd warmth deep down inside her that she could only remember having felt once before, when she had sat outside the inn in Penthos with Dahlia. It had only been for the briefest of instants, but in that moment, she had felt as if she could finally see something in her life beyond all the death and rage that had filled it up until then.

She cocked her head at him curiously.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" she asked. "The stress isn't getting to you or anything?"

Leonidas gave a low chuckle.

"One of my oldest friends just prophesied my death, and a strange woman with a sordid past is telling me that ancient gods are trying to loose themselves on the world and cause untold chaos and destruction." He shrugged philosophically. "Under the circumstances, I think I'm holding up quite well."

Callisto gave him a wicked grin.

"I've seen better," she said.

Leonidas let out a gently despairing laugh, then turned on his heel and began heading toward the palace.

"Come on," he said. "I was just about to check in on Monocles and see how he's getting on. He's not been having much luck I'm afraid, but maybe with the two of you sharing your information, things will become a little clearer."

Callisto felt her heart lurch slightly at that. She had been hoping Monocles would have managed to locate the tomb by now. It was all very well knowing that the Followers had already uncovered its location, but she did not see how that was any use to her in trying to find it. She supposed she could always torture one of their members, but it would be slow, and unreliable. She did not after all know if every member of the cult knew the tomb's location, or only those high up in its membership. She could waste hours trying to extract information which her victim might not even have, and to be brutally honest, the screaming would probably just wind up giving her a headache anyway.

"Are you coming mercenary?" Leonidas called back over his shoulder toward Athelis. "We are off to speak with your charge."

Athelis fixed the Spartan King with a hard stare, but only nodded in return and began to follow them inside.

It did not take them long to find Monocles. The little Athenian academic was sitting in a grand dining hall, that was almost entirely empty of people save for himself and an unassuming looking Helot slave sitting patiently nearby, his face a studied mask of complete neutrality as he watched Monocles work. It did not take long to realise why the man was present though. The long table at which Monocles was seated was all but groaning under the weight of the hundreds of books, scrolls and scraps of parchments that Monocles had clearly had brought up to him from the city archives. It would have taken an army of Helots to carry it all here, and this man had clearly remained on hand to fetch and carry anything that Monocles himself could not handle.

Monocles himself had his head buried in a scroll so long that it ran off the edge of the table and hung almost to the floor. His nose was practically pressed up against it, and he was squinting with one eye so that he could hold that strange glass lens he wore in place between his cheek and his brow while he scribbled intently away on a large swathe of parchment to one side of him. So intent was he on his work that he barely even looked up as they entered, and he certainly did not appear to recognise any of them when he did.

Leonidas cleared his throat politely, but Monocles did not so much as glance up.

"I don't think that's going to work," Athelis smirked.

"Let me try something," Callisto said, and before Leonidas could stop her, she had crossed to the table, an impish grin lighting across her face. Quietly she squatted down so that her head was on the same level as the little Athenian.

"Monocles," she said coyly, "Monocles?"

"Mmmm?" he grunted without looking up.

"I just thought I should warn you, the books are on fire."

"WHAT!?" The little man's head shot from left to right in pure panic as he quickly surveyed the length of the table, his breath seizing in his throat, before finally gasping loudly when he realised what the truth of the situation was. Slowly his eyes came to rest on Callisto, and for the first time since she had met him, Callisto got to see him annoyed. It was even more amusing than she had thought it would be. His face turned a beetroot red, and he gnawed steadily at one side of his mouth.

"Very funny," he said churlishly.

"I thought so," Callisto grinned, then straightened so that she could plop herself girlishly on the bench opposite him.

Monocles watched her silently for a moment, blinking once or twice as he did so, that weird eye glass lending the gesture a strange, off kilter perspective. Finally he let out a soft sigh, as if trying to calm himself.

"It _is_ good to see you again my dear," he said eventually, "and, sense of humour aside, your arrival could not be more fortuitous! If I were not a man of reason, I would say that it is almost as if the gods had a hand in it, guiding us from one key point in out lives to the next in a never ending string of causality that..."

"Monocles,_ my dear_," Callisto interjected quickly, mocking his familiarity with a sneering cadence all her own. "Before you go prattling off on yet another pointless tangent, please, just tell me, in as few words as possible, that you've found the tomb."

The little Athenian academic's happy smile vanished in an instant to be replaced by a look of crestfallen embarrassment.

"I am afraid I have not," he said sadly. "My investigations have come to something of an impasse unfortunately. The scribes at the city archives were able to locate the missing ledger I was looking for, but it was little help truth be told. The money trail I was following goes dead a generation or so too late for me to trace it all the way back to good King Leonidas here's ancestors."

Callisto felt something dark and sickening stir in the pit of her stomach. This was not the news she had wanted to hear. If Monocles had been successful, they would simply have been able to use that information to usurp the Ephors' authority and place Leonidas in overall command of the Spartan army. That the location of the tomb was still unclear was a severe blow to any hopes she had of stopping this war before it could ever start. Still, maybe Monocles had overlooked something. He was absent minded enough that it would hardly come as a surprise, although Callisto suspected that when it came to records, and information gleaned from books, he was far less scatter brained.

"Why exactly did the trail go dead?" she asked, picking thoughtfully at a wooden splinter in the surface of the table as she did so.

Monocles gave non committal shrug of his shoulders, as Athelis and Leonidas slid onto the bench beside Callisto.

"It's all a bit muddled," he said. "There are some oblique references to some kind of land deal, but I can find no mention of it in any official financial ledgers. I am certain the tomb is located wherever that land is, but without any official records, there is simply no way to pinpoint the precise location of it. Without knowing where the trail begins, I can't trace it back."

Callisto gritted her teeth. Why for every two steps she managed to take forward did she end up also having to take one step back? Why could she never seem to get out ahead of the curve?

"What's the matter?" Athelis asked, regarding her steadily.

"It's the Followers," she began, and couldn't help but notice the man's eyes narrow when she mentioned them. "I'm positive they know where the tomb is. I think it may even be why they attacked you on the road."

She turned her gaze to Monocles, addressing him directly.

"They didn't want you to find it."

"Those bandits you killed were Followers!?" Leonidas said, his voice ringing with surprise. "Why didn't you tell me any of that in the first place!?"

"Two reasons," Callisto replied smartly.

"Number one," she continued holding up a finger. "I didn't know if I could trust you back when I first figured it out, or even if you'd care."

"And number two?" Leonidas said.

Callisto gave him a defensive glance.

"It kind of slipped my mind," she admitted.

When Leonidas just rolled his eyes in exasperation, Callisto planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"Hey!" she snapped, "I've been a little busy lately!"

"Haven't you just," Leonidas replied, giving her a knowing smile as he did so.

Next to them, Athelis was tapping a finger thoughtfully against the pommel of his sword.

"I don't get it," he said. "What would the Followers want with some dusty old tomb? That kind of thing was never Pelion's concern before. He was all about recruiting. He wanted as many people in that cult of his as he could convince to join it."

"It still is his concern," Callisto replied. "They're using the Pneuma in an indoctrination ritual, but the Temple of Ares has the only viable supply in the region, and I'm not sure they really want to share with the cult of Cronus."

Leonidas shot her a quizzical look.

"What does any of that have to do with my ancestor's tomb?"

"There's a Pneuma spring there..." Callisto began, only to be cut off by a revelatory gasp from Monocles.

"YES!" he cried loudly, causing all three of them to turn and stare at him as if his head had suddenly spun a full three hundred sixty degrees. "Yes, yes, yes, of course! That's it! Pneuma! The Temples! How could I have over looked it! Donations wouldn't be recorded on the ledgers! Of course, of course, of course!"

"What are you jabbering about?" Athelis demanded, but Monocles had already turned his attention back to the table and the vast spread of scrolls and books laid out before him, his eyes scanning rapidly across them.

"Not here," he muttered to himself. "Not here."

He began patting at the piles of scroll and parchment, occasionally lifting one or another to check what lay beneath them. When that proved fruitless, he began to pat himself up and down too, slapping theatrically at his robe until his hands pressed against something at his chest and he froze. With a delighted, almost giddy laugh, he drew a second scroll at the same time as he dropped the first one, seemingly forgotten, back to the table.

"Useless now!" he muttered distractedly to himself. "I can't believe I over looked such a simple detail! Master Herodotus would be very unimpressed, yes, most unimpressed indeed."

He continued to mutter softly to himself as he unrolled the second scroll and began tracing what appeared to be long lines of figures and dates with a pudgy index finger.

Callisto and the others all continued to watch him in stunned silence.

After a minute, Callisto finally managed to speak.

"Care to explain that little outburst for us, or are we just going to have to guess?" she said.

"Mmmm?" Monocles said, barely glancing up from the scroll at first. Eventually his eyes met hers, and Callisto cocked an impatient eyebrow at him, her fingers drumming rhythmically across the coarse surface of the table

"Oh..." he stammered nervously, "...um... yes... well..."

He coughed to clear his throat and, more obviously, to stall for time while he considered what he was going to say. Finally he turned to Leonidas.

"Good King," he began, more smoothly this time, but still with a quiver of nervousness to his tone, "am I correct in assuming that Spartan law declares all burial grounds or memorials as inviolate?"

Leonidas nodded.

"To trespass on such grounds, or to remove anything from them is a crime yes; one that is even punishable by death or exile for the disrespect being shown to another's honoured ancestors."

"So if there_ were_ a supply of Pneuma there..." Callisto began, slowly beginning to catch on to Monocles' line of reasoning.

"Then it would effectively be unusable," Leonidas said. "None would be allowed to enter the tomb to collect it."

"And you would have perfect protection!" Monocles announced theatrically. "There are lots of stories about ancient Spartan initiation practices, dating back to a time before Spartans settled these lands. Athenian records from the time paint the Spartans as terrible bloodthirsty warriors, made fearsome and fearless through some ancient right of passage. Of course such documents can rarely be used to form a sound historical profile of a culture - too much politics wrapped up in their writing you see - but where there's smoke there's fire, or so they say, and If the ancient Spartans had access to a supply of Pneuma, that would certainly explain the rituals they used to undertake."

"Wait a minute!" Callisto said, shooting Monocles a disbelieving stare. "You already know what Pneuma is? What it does?"

"Of course I do," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as he went back to studying his scroll. "Doesn't everyone?"

"I didn't!" Callisto snapped.

Monocles gave an amused snort.

"What were you? Born on a farm?"

Callisto narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yes actually," she said, her voice cold and hard. "The same farm that Xena and her army burned to the ground, with my family inside."

Monocles looked at her, eyes wide and obviously taken aback by the sudden harshness to her tone. She just stared back at him challengingly.

Athelis glanced between the two of them, waiting for someone to speak and finally giving a soft grunt of frustration when neither of them did.

"Can we just get back to the topic at hand..." he said impatiently "...before some of us start putting down roots."

"Yes..." Monocles said finally, managing to blink and look away from Callisto's all too steady and discomfiting stare. "Weeeellll... what I was trying to say was... the_ point_ I was trying to make was, that the Oracular temples have never taken kindly to the widespread use of Pneuma. It obviously isn't in their best interests to let its use run rampant, and it's been a practice they've been trying to stamp out for generations. In Sparta at least, it would appear they managed to succeed, apparently with the help of Lycurgus."

"You're saying King Lycurgus, my ancestor, had his tomb built on this particular stretch of land you mentioned, so that it would place a cap on the supply of Pneuma in Sparta?" Leonidas said.

"Exactly!" Monocles replied, nodding enthusiastically as he managed to get his train of thought back on track. "Lycurgus was a reformer, a man who wanted to free his people from the superstitious dogma that he felt was holding them back. Athenian records from the time speak quite highly of him in this regard, painting a picture of a noble and just man, a man of impassioned logic, thoughtful and meticulous in his approach to all aspects of his kingship."

Callisto scowled. This was taking too long. The sun was climbing higher in the sky with each passing minute and Leonidas would have no choice but to depart soon. A history lesson was the last thing they all needed, but, as usual, Monocles seemed intent on delivering them one anyway.

"What does any of this have to do with finding the tomb's location?" she said, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"It's the donations!" Monocles said as if that answer alone were patently obvious.

Callisto and the others just stared back at him blankly and he gave them a weary, long suffering sigh in return.

"Donations to and from religious orders are not recorded in the government's ledgers, for obvious reasons. Only official transactions are," he explained, "mainly because in most cases, the Temples of Ares and Artemis were the chief beneficiaries of all donations made. Those donations are, as a result, recorded in the temple records, which are sketchy at best..."

He waved the scroll he was holding emphatically under their noses.

"...however," he continued, "I just so happen to have a record of temple donations made around the time of Lycurgus' death."

He thrust the scroll out toward Leonidas, who took it from him with a confused look on his face.

"Second column," Monocles said, gesturing excitedly. "Third from the bottom."

Leonidas frowned but glanced down at the paper. Slowly the frown began to disappear, replaced by a look of genuine surprise.

"That's odd," he said.

"Isn't it just," Monocles grinned cryptically.

Callisto scowled at them both.

"Well?" she said. "I hate being kept in suspense. What does it say?"

"The temple donated_ to_ Lycurgus days before he died," Leonidas said without glancing up from the scroll.

Monocles nodded enthusiastically.

"How much?" Athelis asked, craning his neck to see what it was Leonidas was reading.

"A lot," Leonidas replied.

"Why would they do that?" Athelis frowned.

"Clearly a payment," Monocles said. "Financial aid or a payoff maybe. Now look here," he continued, pointing to a different spot on the same scroll. "Third column, Fifth from the top."

"What does this one say?" Callisto asked, genuinely curious now as to how all of this was supposed to fit together.

"A year after Lycurgus' death, the temple received a donation from Lycurgus' surviving heirs," Leonidas said, his eyes scanning back and forth across the scroll. "It wasn't money though. It was a large portion of land, some three square miles all told,somewhere on the edge of what was then Spartan territory."

"That _has_ to be the land deal I spoke of!" Monocles said, beaming smugly from ear to ear.

"And you think the temple paid him to build it there, and after he died, his heirs then turned round and delivered that land right back to the temple?" Callisto asked, hoping she had managed to keep up with the conversation.

Monocles nodded again.

"Precisely," he said.

Callisto felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She did not think she had ever felt so relieved before, and slowly, she let out a long, tired exhalation.

"Then we've done it," she said. "We can take all of this to the Ephors, and you can prove your lineage beyond a doubt, Leonidas. You can order the whole Spartan army to Thermopylae and stop the war in its tracks."

Leonidas shook his head dejectedly.

"It's not that simple," he replied.

Callisto could only hang her head in her hands and groan in dismay.

"But of course it isn't," she grunted frustratedly. "Two steps forward, one step back. It always has to be more complicated than that doesn't it."

"We have no evidence that the tomb is in fact on this stretch of land," Monocles nodded in agreement with the Spartan King. "Just a vague theory, and for King Leonidas' plan to work, it will take no less than absolute proof of the temple's location for the Ephors to be convinced of his legitimacy."

For a moment they all fell silent, Callisto brooding darkly with her own thoughts. She could not believe they had come so close only to be foiled at the final hurdle.

"Well," Athelis announced, clambering up from the table, "I guess there's only one thing for it."

She eyed him from beneath her heavy frown.

"And what's that?" she said.

"The same thing we were planning on doing anyway," the mercenary replied. "We go to this scrap of land, find the tomb, march back here and get the Ephors to surrender control back to Leonidas."

"Now that..." Callisto said, pointing at Athelis but looking to Leonidas and Monocles, "...is probably the single best idea I've heard all day."

Leonidas glanced at the mercenary sideways, a strange expression on his face.

"You would throw your lot in with mine?" he said curiously. "Why? There is little I can reward you with."

Athelis just shrugged, and flashed the Spartan King a thin smile that had no mirth in it.

"I already told you," he said, his voice tight and flat but carrying an undercurrent of dark satisfaction with it. "I want Pelion's head on a stick. He controls the Followers, and the Followers want this Pneuma stuff that's in the tomb. Seeing them hurting when I take it from them will be more than payment enough for me."

Leonidas nodded, clambering up from his seat to stand squarely in front of Athelis. For a moment the two men just seemed to be standing their, sizing one another up, then, Leonidas reached out and proffered his hand to the other man.

Athelis said nothing. He simply regarded it questioningly for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Leonidas.

"You're a better man than I thought you were," the Spartan King explained matter-of-factly.

Athelis gave him a grin, but did not take his hand.

"Not that much better," he said, and Leonidas nodded again.

"So that's the way it is then?" he said.

"Isn't it always the best way for it to be," Athelis replied, still grinning. Callisto rolled her eyes as she watched them. Men and their posturing!

"If you two boys are done measuring..." she interrupted, "...we still don't know where this 'scrap of land' actually is."

Behind her, she heard Monocles clear his throat softly.

"I think, and this is only a working theory mind you, that I may be able to help with that," he said, retrieving the scroll he had previously handed to Leonidas, and shoving it back into the folds of his robes as he did so. "The Temple of Ares has periodically granted some of its holdings to the Spartan government as a display of gratitude for Sparta's consistent and faithful worship over the centuries. The lands you're talking about were returned to Spartan control some fifty years ago."

Callisto narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Why would they do that?" she said.

"Presumably because they did not realize the tomb was buried beneath it. Remember that the tomb was built hundreds of years ago, and the records of its location are deliberately obscure so as to keep the Pneuma spring hidden. Hardly surprising that over time its location was lost. Now, if I remember rightly, these lands have become used as farm land. The soil there is considered particularly rich and fertile, perfect for growing a wide variety of crops, including a very special sub species of turnip that..."

He trailed off as he caught sight of Callisto eyeing him impatiently.

"...Anyway," he continued with an embarrassed cough, "the lands were relinquished following the battle at Marathon, and entered into a trust that was to be granted to freed Helots..."

Callisto and Leonidas glanced at one another.

"Freed Helots," Leonidas said, and Callisto nodded.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she said.

"If what you say about the Followers and their motives is true, then his death would suddenly make a lot more sense."

"Whose death?" Athelis interjected. "What are you both talking about?"

"Soriacles," Callisto said, "the Helot commander from Marathon who died a couple of days ago."

"He _was_ granted a large dispensation of land for his heroism in that battle," Leonidas said. "It would make sense if the tomb was buried somewhere beneath it all."

"You think he found it and they killed him for it?" Athelis said, beginning to catch on.

"It does fit," Callisto replied. "He must have realised what it was they had down there. They probably killed him to keep it quiet."

"Then I take it that's where we're headed then," Athelis said, almost sounding excited by the prospect, before turning to reach across the table and clap Monocles heartily on the back.

"Nice work!" he said, and Monocles gave a satisfied smile.

"Bet you can't wait to get down there and see it all for yourself…" Athelis continued, only to trail off when the smile disappeared from Monocles' face, to be replaced a paleness so white, the little Athenian looked like he was about to be sick.

"I… uh… I'm afraid I won't be joining you," he said, letting his eyes fall ashamedly back to the table.

"You've got to be joking!" Athelis said. "All this time you've been banging on about how you'll be the first person to write about Spartan history, record it in all its glory, and now here's the chance for you to reach out and touch it, and you're not going to even try and take it?"

"I have a profound love of history," Monocles admitted, "but I also have a profound love of my own skin."

He gave a nervous swallow, before continuing on.

"I've been doing some reading," he said, still unable to meet their eyes, "about these Followers, about Cronus."

Slowly, he managed to wrench his gaze away from the table, unable to meet Callisto's fierce stare, but succeeding in looking Leonidas directly in the eye.

"I was as doubtful as you were Great King, about them and their religion, and about the danger they represented, but still they fascinated me. They were just so intriguingly different to all the other religious sects I've come across. The more I study them though, the more the more I find myself learning to be afraid of them. They are not to be trifled with and then disregarded…"

Finally he succeeded in turning to face Callisto.

"…They are more dangerous than you realise," he said softly, the fear evident in his voice. "I think by going there – to the tomb I mean – you will only… how can I put it… upset them? And most grievously so, I might add. I value my own life far too highly to risk it in such a way. If that makes me a coward..."

"It does," Callisto cut in sharply.

"...then so be it," Monocles finished, letting his gaze return, shamefacedly, to the table

Callisto continued to glare at him angrily, then let out a disgusted grunt, and pushed herself up from the table.

"So that's it then?" She hissed at him. "All this time and effort, and now you're just going to stay here, safe behind your scrolls and your books while other people put their lives on the line?"

Monocles nodded sadly.

"I am no warrior my dear," he said. "My love of history is genuine, and I would so dearly love to accompany you and see the tomb in all its glory."

He shook his head sadly.

"I have no desire to die there though," he said, and Callisto gave a derisive snort as the little man turned back to face Leonidas.

"My most humble apologies Great King, if I am a disappointment to you. If you so wish, I will take my leave of you now, and be on my way back to Athens. I think I have achieved as much as I can for you here, if that is any consolation for my otherwise poor service to you and this great city."

Leonidas puffed out his cheeks as if not really knowing what to say, then let loose a long low exhalation.

"That will not be necessary Monocles," he said reaching over the table and offering his hand the same way he had done for Athelis earlier. "You have done me a service. The service I asked of you in point of fact. Your duty to me is done, and done well. For that I thank you. I bear you no ill will for not wishing to endanger yourself by carrying it any further."

Monocles gave an embarrassed nod and reached out to shake the Spartan's hand, once again unable to meet the gazes of those around him.

"I thank you for your graciousness," he said, then swallowed nervously. "However, I still think it best if I begin my preparations to leave though. I have a feeling that come your departure from the city, I will be decidedly less welcome here."

Leonidas nodded.

"You may well..." he began to say, when suddenly, the doors they had entered the dining hall through flew open with a loud crash of wood against stone that echoed off the walls all around them.

"Great King!" A voice called across the room, and Leonidas span on his heel to face the newcomer.

It was someone Callisto did not recognise; a fresh faced young Spartan soldier advancing across the room with a clean, unmarked red cloak, and pristine armour. The closer he came, the more Callisto began to realise just how young he truly was. He must have barely been out of his teens judging by the thin layer of stubble that marked his chin. While realistically there was probably not a great deal of difference in their ages, the few years she did have on this boy seemed like a lifetime to her. In those years, she had seen and done so much while he had probably never ventured far beyond Sparta's walls. She frowned slightly, uncertain of why exactly that thought bothered her so much.

"One of your three hundred?" she asked quietly, and Leonidas nodded grimly.

"I have to make use of all the resources available to me unfortunately," he muttered, clearly understanding where her thoughts were headed, then raised his voice to call across the hall.

"You have news for me Theocles?" he said.

The young Spartan dropped to one knee in front of Leonidas, his fists pressed to the ground and his spear laid flat.

"I do my Lord," he said. "Ithius has arrived as you said he would, and he wishes to speak with you."

Leonidas glanced at Callisto, who once again felt her spirits rising. This could be just the break they needed.

"He is waiting outside I take it?" Leonidas said.

"He is my Lord."

Leonidas turned to look at both she and Athelis.

"We'd best be headed back out there then I suppose," he said. "It's time I was back about my business anyway."

With that he turned and began to head for the door. Callisto fell into step alongside Athelis a few feet behind him, leaving Monocles alone to begin the long process of gathering up his things.

Outside, the sun was already beginning to climb high above the courtyard, drenching it in warm light that gave Callisto a vague sense of relief. With Ithius here, and with the Helots at his back, Leonidas might still stand a chance to prove Miranda's prophecy wrong, and in doing so, ruin the plans of Pelion and his Followers at the same time.

She caught sight of Ithius standing close to the table Leonidas had been at earlier. Sentos and a number of other Spartans were standing close by, and Leonidas' captain was speaking quietly with Ithius, while the other Spartans watched the former Helot warily.

With Ithius were two other men she did not recognise. Both were shorter than Ithius himself, but one was particularly squat, like a wild boar, and with the same look of power too. He had thick arms and legs, and his hair was shaved right down to the scalp. The second man was heavily built as well, although not quite so squat or thick set as the first. He came close to Ithius' height, and was leaning nonchalantly against a heavy looking club that Callisto imagined it would take her both hands to lift.

Her mind turned as she tried to figure out who the two men could be. Helots she was sure, judging by the weather beaten look of them both that suggested a life of hard labour. They lacked the deference she had seen others show to the Spartans however. Freed Helots then, like Ithius perhaps? More than likely, and going by their presence here they were probably important figures in the Helot community.

As they approached, Sentos glanced back over his shoulder at them, and stepped to one side, allowing Ithius to lay eyes on them for the first time. Straight away, Callisto noted that he did not smile. There was a tense set to his shoulders, and his brow was furrowed in something close to discomfort as he glanced furtively toward the taller of the two men with him. Callisto felt that same sickening lurch in her stomach that she was becoming all too accustomed to as her instincts cried out in alarm.

Something was desperately wrong here.

From the way Leonidas squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as they drew closer, she could tell he had sensed the tension in the air as well. He was not approaching Ithius now as his friend, but rather, as a King.

_Ithius'_ king.

Next to her, Athelis trudged along, seemingly oblivious to what was going on, his hand, as always, hovering close to the pommel of his sword. Callisto found herself wondering just how oblivious the mercenary really was to the events around him, and how much he actually noticed.

"Ithius, my old comrade," Leonidas said, still managing to sound warm and welcoming as they drew to a stop in front of the assembled Helots. In a single smooth motion, he turned and nodded to the other two men accompanying Ithius.

"Trellus," he said simply, "Drogo. It has been too long since we all fought side by side at Marathon."

"King Leonidas," the squat man named Drogo said diplomatically, bowing slightly as he did so. "It _has_ been a long time, although hardly unexpected considering your duties."

Next to him, the man called Trellus gave a loud sniff but said nothing, leading Ithius to glance at him sharply. Leonidas just ignored the other man's disrespect, instead shifting his stance to appear more at ease and conversational.

"So," he began cordially, clearly in an effort to diffuse some of the tension. "I do not recall having summoned any of you. May I ask what it is that brings you to my doorstep this morning?"

He looked pointedly at Ithius. "Good news I trust?"

Ithius shifted slightly, one hand hooked around his belt and tightening as Leonidas spoke.

"It's about your offer," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

"Ah yes," Leonidas nodded as if in sudden understanding, but glancing sideways at Trellus as he did so. "As I recall it, we had _agreed_ that your people would offer me assistance in my attempts to protect them and their lands from the oncoming Persian invasion."

Trellus sniffed again, and this time there was a dismissive edge to it.

"What lands would those be?" he sneered derisively, and Callisto felt her fists involuntarily clench.

"Excuse me," she said, adopting a note of forced politeness, "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. You would be...?"

As she spoke, she extended her hand toward the other man, watching him expectantly and plastering on her most ingratiating smile as she did so. The man looked at her outstretched hand for a moment then took it firmly in his own.

"Trellus," he said simply.

"Trellus," she echoed with a nod of her head, as if she were trying the name on for size. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Callisto. Perhaps you've heard of me."

Trellus' eyes widened as he heard her name, and Callisto's smile suddenly turned vicious. Her fingers tightened hard around his wrist and she twisted sharply, bringing the bone to the point of breaking and causing him to double over in pain.

As he struggled in her grip, she held on tightly, not relenting her iron grasp for even the barest instant. Slowly, dangerously, she leaned in close to him.

"The next time you address him, you will watch your tongue," she said, her voice carrying a deathly chill to it, "otherwise, I may just rip it out of you."

"We heard you had left the city," Trellus hissed back at her in protest from between teeth gritted in pain. Callisto laughed cruelly.

"You really shouldn't believe everything you hear," she crooned, glancing up at the men watching her as she did so. "I have unfinished business here, and, just so all of you know, I _never_ leave my business unfinished."

"Enough Callisto," Leonidas said. It was supposed to be an order but she treated it as if it had been a question and tilted her head slightly, a victorious grin on her face.

"For now," she said, and released her grip on Trellus. The big man stepped back from her rapidly, massaging his wrist and fixing her with a dark glare as he did so. Ithius stepped up to him from behind, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder in an attempt to assuage his wounded pride.

"It's alright Trellus," he said. "I can handle this on my own."

"Handle what?" Callisto snapped at him dangerously, "Me? Now why would you need to do that? We're all friends and allies here after all aren't we?"

In her gut, she could feel that oh so familiar fire of anger flaring hot and heavy. Something was definitely out of kilter here, and she already had that same sickening feeling that she had felt a dozen times before already this morning, like an instinctual warning that worse was coming from just over the horizon. Who was Trellus and what was he doing here? Why was Ithius acting so cagey. She was pretty sure she already knew the reason, but she still needed to hear it spoken out loud. She simply could not bring herself to believe it otherwise. The universe could not be _that_ cruel.

From behind, Leonidas' gaze fell steady and heavy on her back, and she turned to face him, her jaw set defiantly.

"Aren't we?" she said again, not knowing what else to say.

"Callisto," he said softly, and Callisto was amazed by the sheer weariness that seemed to have settled over him, as if nothing surprised him anymore, and instead, only tired him. "I think it would be best if we heard what Ithius has to say."

He glanced past her toward Ithius, a hurt look in his eyes.

"Wouldn't you agree old friend?" he said.

Ithius gave a slight nod and swallowed hard.

"My apologies my King," he said, stepping well clear of Trellus and Drogo as he spoke, and Callisto could not help but notice the way his voice almost broke when he said 'my'. "Your offer was generous..."

He paused as if unable to finish the sentence, then gave a long defeated sigh. "...but the Ephors' counter offer was even more so."

Callisto felt as if someone had just kicked her hard in the stomach, and for a brief instant all was silent as Leonidas stood perfectly still, his gaze calm and measuring.

"And what offer would that be?" he said flatly.

"Freedom for all of us!" Trellus interjected, much to Ithius' apparent consternation. "Every single Helot man, woman and child free from Spartan rule and law!"

Callisto shot the man a withering glance and he fell silent again in an instant, but continued to watch her warily out of the corner of his eye.

"And the price of that freedom?" Leonidas pushed, never taking his eyes off his friend.

Ithius shifted uncomfortably but Leonidas did not give him an inch, continuing to stare at him steadily, his gaze never once faltering.

"Betrayal is an ugly act Ithius," he said quietly. "You are a better man than to try and hide from the truth of that. I will make you say it before we are done, if only so that you do not regret it later."

Ithius straightened as Leonidas spoke, his shoulders squaring, and his jaw taking on a grim set as he looked the Spartan King flatly in the eye, no longer friend or slave, but merely equal.

"The price was your life," he said as evenly as he could manage. "The Ephors know that without our numbers, your plan is doomed to failure."

Callisto could not hold back any longer.

"I should've known!" she snapped, her voice dripping with disgusted bile as she looked around the group, her fingers tensing into frustrated claws at her side. "Spartan bravery!? HA! And as for you Helots, all of you just sicken me!"

She turned her furious stare on Ithius.

"All your talking, all your pretty little words about freedom for your people, and in the end, how do you achieve it? By throwing your best friend to the wolves, and then closing your eyes so you don't have to look at the mess."

"The lady has a point," Athelis muttered quietly to himself; so quietly even that most of the group just ignored him.

"And who are you to judge us?" she heard Trellus retort. "There isn't a person in all of Greece who doesn't know of you and all the terrible deeds that can be laid at your feet. I'd hardly say you can take the moral high ground with this."

Callisto rounded on the man sharply.

"I'll take whatever 'ground' I wish!" she sneered. "I may be everything you say I am, but I've never once lied about it, which is more than I can say for any of you."

She turned back to Ithius again, her anger growing with each passing moment.

"We were this close!" she said, holding her thumb and fore finger only a centimeter apart. "This close! We'd managed to find the tomb, and with your numbers Leonidas could've..."

"...Could've what?" Ithius interrupted her. His voice had finally cracked, allowing Callisto to see his raw, impotent anger for the very first time "Answer me that! Could've what? Led more of my people to their deaths, so that those who could survive may have a chance of winning their freedom? That wasn't good enough Callisto. I had to make a choice, so I chose the path that would save them all, the path my people had already chosen! You would've had me risk all that on the vain hope that the Ephors would actually listen to some ancient claim of a divine bloodline that would fly in the face of centuries of tradition! That was never a real plan Callisto. That was grasping at straws!"

Callisto took a dangerous step forward, feeling her own anger flare brightly in response to his.

"And what did you think _I _would do when I found out about it!?" She sneered back at him. "Did you really think it would be that easy? Just knock me down in the dirt and that's where I'd stay!? I outfought a warrior princess Ithius, out thought the son of Zeus, and out schemed the God of War. I'm not that easily cast aside."

"To be honest," Ithius retorted, "I hadn't given you that much thought at all."

She clenched her fist tightly.

"Two steps forward Ithius, one step back you sanctimonious son of a..."

Even before she had finished speaking she was moving, her boots sliding forward over the cobbled courtyard as her fist lashed out with the speed of a striking scorpion to plant a powerful blow across Ithius' jaw.

The former Helot was taken completely unawares, his head snapping to one side as the strike caught him off balance. He stumbled slightly and Callisto was on him in an instant, her second blow taking him hard in the stomach and doubling him over as her knee flew up into his face, knocking him flat on his back. She was moving to kick him in the ribs when she felt powerful arms wrapping tightly around her as Leonidas, Athelis and Sentos used all their strength to drag her backward away from him.

"Get off me!" she shouted furiously, kicking and struggling against them with pure, undirected hatred. "LET ME GO! I'll kill him! Him and all the rest of them! Did you hear that Ithius! I'LL KILL ALL OF YOU!"

"NO YOU WON'T!" Leonidas bellowed over her shouted protests, and suddenly she felt his hands grip her by the arms and spin her to face him. His stare was hard and uncompromising.

"While I still draw breath, I will see to it that you do no such thing!" he said sternly.

"I won't have that much longer to wait then will I?" Callisto snapped back instinctively.

She regretted it almost immediately. Leonidas did not even flinch, but she could tell what she had just said had cut him almost as deep as Ithius' betrayal. She refused to back down though. She was not about to let this go. Instead, she glared back at him defiantly, and the two of them stood there like that for a long time, while behind them both, Ithius picked himself up out of the dirt. Finally Leonidas spoke.

"Walk with me," he said to her, taking a step away from the group and gesturing for her to follow.

"Is that supposed to be an order?" she sneered back.

"It certainly wasn't a request," Leonidas replied sharply as he continued to stride away from her.

Callisto could feel a sudden overwhelming urge to scream building inside her, but instead she gritted her teeth in frustration and followed after him, throwing venomous glances at Trellus the Ithius both as she left.

Around the courtyard, the Spartan's preparations were almost complete, and only a few of the soldiers standing close to Ithius, Athelis and the others looked even mildly perturbed by what was beginning to look increasingly like a suicide mission, especially if Miranda's prophecy was even slightly accurate.

"Look at them, Callisto," Leonidas said. "Brave men, every last one of them, each one willing to die for Sparta."

"Foolish men," Callisto sneered back irritatedly at him.

"I beg your pardon?" Leonidas replied, his tone ringing with a sharp edge of rebuke that Callisto simply ignored. He may have been a king, but she was _the_ Warrior Queen. If he expected her to be in anyway deferential to him, he had quite another thing coming.

"They're all going to die, Leonidas," she snapped at him, her eyes blazing angrily. "You as well, and all for what? To prove some pathetic point of honour? To defend that precious Spartan pride that no one else in this snake pit seems to care about but you. You're playing into Cronus' plans! You shouldn't be doing this!"

For a moment Ares' words about preventing the war from happening being exactly what Cronus actually wanted echoed in her mind, but she did her best to shrug them off. The day she trusted Ares would be the day she forgave Xena for killing her family. The God of War had his own agendas. He always did, and she refused to be a slave to them any more.

"What would you have me do then?" Leonidas replied, his voice heavy with that same weariness she had noted earlier. "I feel like I'm a cornered animal Callisto. Prophecies of my death to my left, certain enslavement beneath a despot with a god complex to my right, betrayal at every other corner, and you and your quest against some ancient, mad Titan right down the middle. You tell me, which of those options would you choose? From where I'm standing, none of them look particularly palatable."

"Then don't fight," Callisto replied simply. "Leave them for the Persians. All of them; they deserve one another. You and these men don't have to die to protect people who are actively trying to make sure that that's exactly what you'll do."

Leonidas sighed sadly as he drew to a stop just in front of the gates to the palace courtyard.

"Yes I do," he said, and slapped a hand hard against the masonry of the palace wall. "I am a King of Sparta, Callisto. My duty is not just to protect these buildings; these walls, and halls, and towers, or even the people living in them. My duty is to protect the very essence of Sparta, and the ideals it was founded upon centuries ago by my own ancestors. The Persians would take all that away from us given half the chance, but I will see to it that their hands are struck off when they try."

Callisto smiled at him grimly.

"Now that's more my kind of talk," she said, straightening and folding her arms across her chest in an unyielding pose.

"Alright then," she continued. "If your mind is made up on this insanity, then who am I to disagree. Crazy is kind of my thing after all. March to Thermopylae if that's what you want, but know this; I'll be coming with you."

Leonidas stared at her dumbfounded for a moment then, shook his head sadly at her.

"No you won't," he said softly.

"Just you try and stop me," Callisto retorted. "I'm not one of your lovely little oiled tin pot soldiers, Leonidas. I don't have to follow your orders, and besides, with the odds so heavily stacked against you, you need someone with my level of skill fighting in your corner."

"That's precisely why I _don't_ need you," Leonidas replied, tilting his head back to stare exasperatedly up to the heavens in silent appeal to the gods on high.

"Three hundred Spartans," he said, slowly and purposefully. "Against three hundred thousand Persians."

He returned his gaze to her.

"What difference would three hundred and one make?"

"Don't give me that," Callisto replied, pointing a slim finger at him for emphasis as she continued to speak. "The right person in the right place and at the right time can change history! Trust me, I know. I've seen it done."

"You're more right than you think you are," Leonidas replied. "But your time and place is not now, and certainly not at Thermopylae with me. We were both at the temple of Ares. We both know how this needs to happen. I have my battle to fight, you have yours, and they are not the same at all."

"So, suddenly you believe in prophecy then?" Callisto retorted, her voice heavy with incredulity.

"No," Leonidas shook his head firmly. "But I do believe in you."

The words hit her hard, forcing her into stunned silence.

"No one believes in me," she managed to say eventually.

"That's where you're wrong," Leonidas replied. "Of all the people in the world, Zeus, the King of the Gods himself, chose you to defend Greece from a great and terrible enemy..."

He cocked his head slightly at her and smiled.

"...and being dead at the time, I can't imagine you were an easy get," he finished.

"Way to build a girl up there, Leonidas," she said sarcastically.

"I'm serious," Leonidas said, his voice echoing the sentiment.

Callisto gave a derisive grunt.

"You just don't get it do you?" she said. "Zeus could have chosen anyone else to do his dirty work for him; Xena, or Hercules, or Ulysses or any number of other great heroes. Instead they came to me. I'm not some great warrior Leonidas. My cause was never noble or pure. I just wanted to have revenge, and to cause as much pain and suffering in doing it as I could."

She fixed him with a level stare.

"Zeus didn't choose me because he believed in me," she said. "He chose me because he could afford to lose me."

Leonidas regarded her silently for a moment, before finally speaking again.

"Listen to me, Callisto," he said, leaning in close as he did so. "I've not known you that long, but I think there's something I should tell you before I leave, something I think you need to hear."

Callisto cocked an eyebrow at him.

"If you're about to confess your endless, undying love for me, maybe I should tell you some of my theories about reproduction," she said jokingly.

Leonidas gave a long suffering roll of his eyes.

"Just listen to me, would you," he said frustratedly, then fixed her with an even, earnest look.

"Whatever the reason they chose you doesn't matter," he continued. "You _are_ the one they chose. The one person who, in the right place at the right time, can make all the difference."

He paused for a moment, never once looking away as he gave his words time to sink in, and when he continued, his voice rang with as firm a level of conviction as she had ever heard from anyone.

"You, Callisto," he said, "are capable of being so much more than you are now, but first you need to understand something."

Callisto stared back at him steadily.

"And what, exactly, would that be," she replied, still not able to keep all the snark out of her tone.

Leonidas took a deep breath, as if summoning up all his strength before continuing.

"You need to understand that the world isn't fair," he said.

"That's it?" Callisto replied, arching both her eyebrows at him in mild disappointment. "That's your big advice?"

"I'm not done yet!" Leonidas snapped back at her irritably. "By all the gods on Olympus, you can just be so..." He trailed off with a frustrated grunt then took another deep calming breath.

"Like I said, the world isn't fair," he began again, "That's why Ithius did what he did. He's trapped between a rock and a hard place, trying to defend his people the only way he knows how, the exact same way I'm trying to defend mine."

"So you want me to forgive him?" Callisto said, already knowing she would never be able to. Even the mere thought of Ithius was now enough to get her pulse racing and her blood boiling.

"No," Leonidas said, shaking his head again as he did so. "No I don't. What I'm trying to say, very inelegantly I might add, is that if you're waiting for the world to start making sense; if you're waiting for there to be some kind of grand karmic justice behind it all that will suddenly render everything and anything you did that bit less terrible, so that it no longer haunts you when you try and sleep at night, well then, you're going to be waiting a very long time."

Callisto could feel an ache beginning to throb dully in the back of her throat as he spoke, and she sniffed slightly, trying hard to make it go away.

"Peace, Callisto, real peace, isn't out here," he said gesturing to the courtyard around them and the world beyond. "It's not beyond those mountains, or waiting for you in some distant far away place. It's not in my ancestor's tomb, or in saving me. It's not even in defeating this Cronus that you seem hellbent on doing, or waiting for you in Elysium like the gods promised you."

He reached out gently toward her and she did not shy away as she felt his finger tap lightly against her temple.

"Real peace is in here," he said softly, then tapped the same finger against her breast bone, right above her heart.

"And in here," he finished.

With those final words, he straightened and looked back across the courtyard toward Sentos. The Spartan Lieutenant looked back at him expectantly.

"Sentos!" Leonidas called to him, "have my horse brought out to me, and fetch me a quill and parchment. There's something I must write before we go."

The other man nodded and hurried off to carry out his King's commands.

Callisto, meanwhile stood silently, trying to process what it was he had just said. Behind her, she could hear the Spartans stirring in anticipation as it became clear the time for their departure was almost at hand. The sounds of rattling armour, and grunts of effort as swords, spears and shields were hefted, filled the air, followed by the low resounding rumble of three hundred pairs of feet moving quickly into formation.

"Remember what I said," Leonidas nodded to Callisto as a Helot trotted his mount over to him, and he clambered skillfully up into the saddle. "It's a hard lesson to learn, but one that I think will benefit you no end if you do."

Callisto swallowed, feeling the painful lump of misery in her throat slide down and take root somewhere in her gut where it proceeded to eat away at her, until all that was left was the same terrible sense of hollowness that had dogged her ever since she had stood alone in that chamber, listening to Xena's anguished cries at the death of her son.

She did not want to lose him. She realised that now; did not want to lose Leonidas, or anyone else like him, ever again.

She took a long, deep breath and tilted her head back to look him square in the eye.

"I'll find the tomb," she said firmly, trying to fend off the empty hopelessness building inside her. "I'll find it and I'll prove that yours is the right to rule. I'll march the whole Spartan army down to Thermopylae personally if I have to, but I will be there, and I will make sure you come back here alive."

Leonidas smiled at her sadly from his saddle.

"One other piece of advice for you then," he said. "Don't make a promise when you know you can't keep it."

With that he turned to face the column of Spartans that already stood assembled behind Callisto in a set of thirty rows, each one some ten men abreast.

"Spartans!" He yelled back down the line. "Steel yourselves and prepare to march. It is very likely that this will be our last time to war, our last time to step outside these walls to fight for something greater than ourselves. We may never see our homes again, our families or our friends. I hope you've said whatever goodbyes you felt were necessary."

As he spoke, his eyes wandered up over the walls of the palace, and Callisto thought she caught him glancing up into the foot hills that the Inner City sprawled across, and on toward the temple of Ares in the distance. Then, suddenly, his eyes were back on her again, a deep rooted look of regret filling them.

"I, for one, did not know how," he finished quietly, almost to himself in fact, before straightening and looking back to his men.

"READY! MARCH!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, and behind him, the three hundred Spartans began to move forward in perfect lockstep, Sentos striding proudly at their head. They marched in silence at first, the only sound the drumming of feet and the rattle of armour, then somewhere, back around the middle of the column, one man began to sing. The notes were flat and tuneless, the rhythm simple and matched to their footfalls, but before long it had spread through the entire column and soon every single man was chanting it.

_"As long as you live, shine,  
Let nothing grieve you beyond measure.  
For your life is short,  
and time will claim its toll."_

Callisto nearly broke when she heard the words again, that same song, echoing at her like a ghost out of the past.

Leonidas watched them, his expression one of profound pride as the last of them marched past, leaving he and Callisto alone again. He looked at her briefly one last time, opening his mouth as if to say something, but the words died on his lips and he closed it again. Instead, he simply gave her a brief respectful nod, then wheeled his horse about and began to ride off after the column.

Callisto stood in silence for a while as she watched them move off up the boulevard she herself had ridden down less than an hour before. Then she heard them, the footsteps at her back as Ithius and Athelis approached her from the rear.

Athelis drew to a stop a few paces back from her, keeping a respectful distance that surprised her with its empathy. It was the last thing she would have expected from him, given how little he and Leonidas had got on. Ithius, on the other hand, showed no such thoughtfulness. Instead he moved up to stand by her side, and Callisto felt the fury inside her flare, biting and hot.

"What do you want?" she demanded angrily.

"I just wanted to say, I'm so..." he began but Callisto held up a hand to cut him off.

"Don't!" she snapped. "Don't you dare try and tell me you're sorry."

Ithius let out a long low breath.

"I just thought that we should talk," he said quietly as the two of them watched Leonidas and his men disappear around the corner at the end of the boulevard. "That you might give me the chance to let you know why I did what it was I did. Leonidas was my friend and I..."

Callisto rounded on him sharply, taking some small measure of satisfaction when she saw the livid bruise already spreading across his cheek from her earlier punch, and his split lip as a result of her kneeing him in the face.

"Friend?" she laughed cruelly, and as she continued to speak, the pitch of her voice rose steadily in strength and intensity. "Friend!? Let me tell you what I know about friendship Ithius. I've never really had friends, but I've known plenty of people who did. Two of them in particular stand out. I used to like to torture them, torment them even. I'd cause them pain however and whenever I could, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never drive a wedge between them, never cut that chord of friendship that tied the one to the other."

She took a deep breath before continuing.

"Those two people had a bond Ithius, a connection, that the likes of me or you can never really understand. They would never have done to each other what you just did to him. You were never his friend; just another hanger on, another opportunist waiting to use him however you could!"

Ithius did not appear to know what to say. He simply stood there dumbfounded, his eyes wide with shock. Callisto could not even allow herself a small mental cheer at her victory over him. The hollowness inside her had grown too great. Instead, she turned away as she finished, her jaw snapping tightly shut as she stared back off up the now empty boulevard.

"I... uh... I suppose deserved that," he managed finally.

Callisto rolled her eyes and rounded on him again unable to keep her anger in check anymore.

"You should just stop talking!" She spat at him. "You haven't had even half of what you deserve! Well, let me tell you something, Ithius. Let me give you a little warning. I meant what I said before. If I ever see you again, if I so much as lay eyes on you, I will cut out your heart and feed it to the crows!"

She gave a small shrug.

"It's still not the full extent of the suffering you have owing to you, but it's a start at least."

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, she span on her heel and turned to face Athelis.

"Are you ready to leave?" she said, her tone clipped and brooking no nonsense.

"What I've been waiting all this time for," Athelis replied with a casual nod.

"Okay then, let's go," She gestured down the boulevard and out to the rolling foothills that surrounded the city beyond. "We've wasted quite enough time here. Its time we were getting back to work."

She glanced at Ithius out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. He did not even look back at her, instead turning and walking slowly back over toward Drogo and Trellus across the courtyard.

"We've got a King to save after all," she said.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies for the long wait for this chapter. The first half proved to be an absolute nightmare to get right, and I've been extremely busy in my private life of late. I'm getting into more of a routine now, but I also have decidedly less time available to me to write than I did a month or so ago. I have not given up on these stories thought and will continue to beaver away at them feverishly whenever I have the chance. I'm finally starting to get there with this one. The climactic chapters are here now this one is done, and Leonidas has made his stage right exit.

Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and following this truly mammoth story. It has turned out to be much more of an undertaking than I first imagined, but now its all starting to come together. Especially big shout outs to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, including newcomer AraelDranoth, and the continued support of everyone else. To Booksaboutnothing, sorry, but this ended up being another talky chapter. The action is coming soon, I promise... ;-)


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Shatter Point

**Chapter Seventeen: Shatter Point**

The first bright rays of daylight were beginning to filter in through the windows of the second story as Pelion entered the temple's main altar chamber. A thin sheen of smoke was still hanging in the air after the fire of the night before, and the sun light made it all the more visible. It drifted steadily on the faint through draft, marking the already defaced statuary and wall hangings still further with great streaks of soot and ash.

Pelion hardly even noticed. His attention was focused almost solely on the figure at the other end of the room. Mortius was kneeling before the altar, his head bowed toward the ground, his hands pressed flat across the cold stone surface.

As he moved across the chamber, Pelion made no effort to hide his approach. He saw no reason to, and even coughed lightly as he drew near, the ever present smoke tickling irritatingly at the back of his throat.

At the corner of his peripheral vision, he noticed the shadows flicker and shift in that strange manner they had whenever Mortius was nearby. Even with everything Pelion had seen in his life, it still managed to unnerve him. Where had such a power come from, and how had Mortius come to possess it?

Despite Pelion's sudden interruption, Mortius seemed as calm as ever, but it did not take Pelion long to catch sight of the dismembered remains of the temples statue to Artemis. They had previously been piled high on the altar, but were now scattered across the chamber floor, seemingly swept aside in a moment of pure fury and frustration.

The old priest frowned. Who could have been responsible? None of the other Brothers would dare approach the altar, which just left Mortius himself. Could he really have been responsible? If so, it would be the first sign of overt emotion he had seen from the dour, hooded man, and if it truly was the case, then it begged the question, what had happened that could so frustrate his Lord's soul?

He was distracted from his line of thought when he noticed Mortius' head tilt slightly, and then somewhere, at the edge of sensation, he felt a strange pressure weighing in upon him, as if he were suddenly deep underwater. Until Cronus had begun to speak with him, he had never noticed it before, but now he recognised it as a clear sign that Cronus was reaching out to them across the weakened barrier, the sheer force of his will like a great ocean pressing in hard and unrelenting against the very fabric of reality.

Desperately he strained with all his senses in an attempt to overhear what was passing between his Lord and Mortius, but as always, their conversation proved to be frustratingly just beyond his reach. Whatever his Lord wished to communicate, he clearly intended it to be for Mortius alone.

Giving up, Pelion instead stood silently, waiting. To interrupt now would be a grave error in judgement, and would most likely show a lack of proper deference before his Lord.

Suddenly, Mortius' head straightened, but tellingly, the pressure sweeping in waves inside Pelion's skull did not. His Lord was still present, worming through the gaps between the worlds of the living and the dead. They were too small for him to pass through at present, but in time, and with the aid of his Followers, they would be forced wide. That only left the question of the vessel, but Pelion was content to wait for his Lord's final judgement on that front.

"You would speak with me?" Mortius said, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever.

Pelion glanced at the remains of the statue, then, somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt it growing, that strange whispering sensation that made the space between his temples ache.

"_Such a specimen, is he not my Faith." _came the voice of his Lord, obviously referring to Mortius._ "A truly ferocious avatar of my retribution, ready to be unleashed upon my command. But still, one is not enough... There must be others! Yes! Others!"_

Pelion did his best not to react to the voice. To the best of his knowledge, Mortius was not aware that Cronus could speak directly to him, and he was in no rush to change that fact. While it remained so, it gave him an advantage over Mortius that, no matter how slight, he planned to make use of in the future. For Cronus' part, the ancient Titan seemed to delight in the deception, although Pelion himself had still not quite figured out why such deception was necessary in the first place.

"I would indeed," he nodded in reply to Mortius' earlier question, and began to ascend the steps, his long staff clacking loudly against the stone in the otherwise silent altar chamber. "All went well at the Temple of Ares I trust."

"After a fashion," Mortius replied.

Pelion's eyes narrowed at that. Such caginess was not normally Mortius' style.

"The Oracle is dead then?" He asked, making sure to watch the other man's reaction carefully.

"She is," Mortius replied, still not turning around.

Pelion felt a satisfied smile begin to creep across his face. This was good news. Oracles were imbued with a direct link to the gods, and as such, their souls made fine fodder for the Followers' plan, each one to die providing another hefty blow to the barrier that could only hasten its fall.

"And Callisto?" He asked, trying hard to keep the trepidation he was feeling out of his voice. Their Lord wanted Callisto spared, and Pelion was inclined to agree. Mortius, on the other hand, seemed eager to be rid of her. He saw her only as a threat, and not the weapon she could so easily be forged into.

Inside his head, the pounding ache grew heavier, and a cold sweat began to stain the back of Pelion's neck as his Lord spoke to him. The whispered words carried the same sheer force as a hammer blow to an anvil.

"_He has failed!"_ Cronus crowed victoriously, and Pelion had to try hard not breathe a sigh of relief. If it was indeed true, it would certainly explain Mortius' frustration. It would mark the second time Callisto had escaped his clutches, and Mortius was not the type to accept failure readily, especially his own.

"_The woman still lives!"_ His Lord continued excitedly._ "Her thoughts dwell upon me even now! They shine so brightly in the firmament, like blazing suns, so full of sweet, succulent hatred. She knows nothing of me save my name, and yet the slightest thought of me makes her seethe with rage. It carves away at her, hollows her out with every blow her spirit is dealt! You must make her ours my Faith, in one way or another! She must be made ready, as he has been! She _must_ be! We have the tools now. All is ready! You need only the will to use them!"_

In front of Pelion, Mortius straightened slightly, drawing himself up to his full height, which was, admittedly, both impressive and intimidating in equal measure. As he straightened, the shadows seemed to rush in on him from all sides, as if some great force had been holding them back. When they reached him, each shadow clawed its way desperately over his robes, seeming to leech at the colour until even the light could not touch them.

"Callisto was already gone when I arrived," the dour figure said, "but she has not escaped me yet. She will be tended to in due time, when my agents locate her again. Until then, there are other matters that must be taken care of."

"Everything is in place then?" Pelion said eagerly. Much as he and Mortius did not see eye to eye on some matters, he had to admire the Soul's overall plan. What came next would be the critical juncture of all their efforts, the pivotal moment around which Cronus' freedom could very well hinge. They could not afford for it to not be successful.

Mortius nodded again.

"Leonidas is departing the city as we speak, the Persians march, and the Helots are stepping neatly into position. All is as it should be. The hammer is prepared to fall. We need only ensure that when it does, it falls in the right place."

"_Overconfidence!" _Cronus hissed in barely restrained annoyance. _"It ever was his greatest flaw, even before he came into my service. He has not thought of everything my Faith. Those arrayed against us make plans and schemes as we speak. All could yet come to ruin!"_

"And you are certain nothing can go wrong?" Pelion said, reaching up to stroke a hand thoughtfully across his chin. It was often difficult to put the information his Lord gave him to good use without revealing how he knew it, and even more difficult to understand why his Lord often seemed to be giving him instructions that ran completely contrary to whatever it was Mortius was doing at the time. Was Mortius truly disobeying their Lord, or was there some greater purpose at work? In truth, he had no idea, but then, nor was it really that important. His Lord had spoken to him, and in the end, that was all that really mattered.

"Nothing," Mortius answered his question evenly, not even the smallest shred of doubt evident in his tone. "Every last possibility has been accounted for."

"_The Agiad line!" _Cronus' angered whisper seemed to spit and bite inside Pelion's consciousness. _"The tomb could undo it all! The war must not be stopped! Not yet! Not until the rest is prepared! They are going there now; the woman and the mercenary!" _

The voice fell silent for a moment, and Pelion was about to open his mouth to speak again, when suddenly, it returned, like a crashing wave that try as he might, Pelion could not withstand.

"_THEY ARE CLOSE!"_ His Lord's voice echoed across his mind in a silent roar._ "The little fat man... he thinks of me too. I look into his thoughts and feel the shivers run down his spine. He fears us, fears me! There is danger my Faith; it stalks close at hand! The tomb is uncovered, and he draws closer to the truth beyond that with each passing moment. He must be stopped. Too soon... too soon..."_

Slowly the voice began to trail off into silence, and as it did so, the aching pressure inside his skull slowly began to recede too. Eventually, it had departed so completely that he felt both relieved, and yet strangely empty at the same time. It was as if, when his Lord spoke to him, a part of him he had not known was missing was suddenly made whole again, and the aching hollowness left behind afterward was far worse than the pain of his Lord's powerful embrace.

He did his best to shrug off the sudden abandonment, and instead tried to concentrate on his Lord's final words. 'The little fat man'? 'The tomb is uncovered'? For a moment none of it really registered with him, as he tried instead to find his concentration again, then suddenly, and with great alarm, it all slid into place with the surety of a sword being returned to its scabbard.

"Monocles," he muttered to himself, so softly that Mortius did not even seem to notice. The old Priest began to descend the steps hurriedly, his mind turning as he did so.

He had dispatched Perites and a few other Followers to ensure the fat little Athenian would never reach the city, mainly because Mortius' agents had informed them of Leonidas' plan to uncover the location of Lycurgus' tomb. At the time it had seemed prudent to have him killed in order to ensure that their supply of Pneuma remained undiscovered, and as such undisturbed. Since coming to the city though, he had proved much less capable than they had feared, and the tomb's location had continued to remain successfully hidden. Pelion had even gone to the lengths of ensuring that certain key documents that Monocles had been searching for in his quest for the location of the tomb would be 'misplaced', all in an effort to slow the search even further.

"I fear that we may have overlooked something," he said as he reached the bottom of the steps. Turning back to regard Mortius, he was completely surprised to see that the other man had not moved a muscle, and still remained stock still, watching him steadily from beneath that permanently shadowed hood.

"Explain," Mortius said simply.

"The historian, the one who arrived here with Callisto, the one we tried to kill and failed."

Mortius nodded,

"I do recall," he said.

"What if he were to uncover the location of the tomb?" Pelion continued, doing his best to make it seem as if the idea were just now occurring to him. "What if he already has, and Callisto is on her way there now to foil us? That tomb has been a useful tool to us, but it could also wind up being our undoing. It can prove Leonidas' lineage and give him the legal right to command the whole Spartan army. Such a sea change in the politics of this city could severely hamper our plans."

Mortius shook his head.

"It's too late," he said. "Leonidas has already departed for Thermopylae. The war against the Persians can no longer be stopped."

"True," Pelion nodded in agreement. "But if he _were_ to gain control of the army, the war could be won by the Spartans before it has achieved what we need it to, and that could very easily damage your man's efforts..."

He gave Mortius a long purposeful look.

"...possibly even rendering them worthless," he continued, his voice low and worried now. "Such a failure would be a grievous blow to our efforts. It could even leave us without a chosen Strength, and our Lord trapped and tortured in Tartarus for another thousand years."

That gave Mortius pause. Slowly, but with that same assured, snake like grace he always possessed, he descended the steps until he was standing face to face with Pelion.

"You think the risk is that great?" he said, as if seriously considering Pelion's words for the first time. "You really think that someone like this Athenian, so small, so inconsequential, could prove to be our ultimate undoing?"

Pelion nodded.

"I do," he said sincerely. "I truly do."

Mortius regarded him for a moment longer, then stepped past him, beginning to stride off into the shadows. As he walked, he cast a glance back over his shoulder toward Pelion.

"Then it would appear it's time for you to get your hands dirty at long last," he said. "I have other business to attend to."

* * *

The trail leading around the hillside and out onto the mustering fields was well trodden, but uneven, causing the wheels of Ithius' clunky old wagon to creak loudly as they hit each unexpected dip, or hump in the road. Ithius, for his part, did his best to keep comfortable and ignore the protesting whinnies from his cart horses as they were forced to drag the wagon over what he could only imagine must have been the lumpiest road in all of Greece.

Behind him in the wagon, Drogo and Trellus both gave a sharp intake of breath as they rounded the hillside and caught their first glimpses of what awaited them on the mustering fields beyond. The fields themselves were pretty much as the name implied; a large flat plain of short grass spotted with the occasional wild flower. A number of bare mud tracks, laid down by decade upon decade of foot traffic, criss-crossed the area in a network of thin brown lines.

At the center, of it all stood a large stone dais. It was constructed from ancient, rough cut slabs of granite, weathered down over centuries of exposure to the elements, and now shot through with dashes of green, thanks to the many species of moss, lichen and weed that had begun to grow across it. At equidistant points around its circumference, four pillars had been erected. Made of the same granite as the dais itself, they stood upright, but did not support anything. Drilled into their surfaces were rusted iron brackets upon which torches could be mounted night time ceremonies, but beyond that, the pillars seemed to serve little other purpose.

It was not the sight of the fields themselves that had given Ithius' companions pause however. Instead, it was what now filled them. Crowds of Helots stood before them, milling about the mud trails and plains of grass with a quiet air of expectation about them as they waited, somewhat impatiently, for their freedom to be granted.

It was the sheer number of them that made Ithius' breath catch in his throat. Like Trellus and Drogo, he had been to the mustering fields before, several times in fact, but each time it had been for the mustering of relatively small Helot units being readied to march to war alongside the Spartan army. The last time he had come here had been following Marathon. He and some two thousand other Helots, including Trellus, Drogo and Soriacles, had all come to receive their freedoms as a reward for their valiant service. Even with two thousand men present, the mustering fields had not stood even a quarter full. Now they appeared fit to bursting with many more thousands of Helots scattered across them in disorganised clumps and gatherings.

He frowned as he took better stock of the sight before him. All about the field, he could see the familiar blue cloaked forms of Demosthenes' Spartan forces. The King must have had almost every last one of his men on the fields judging by the sheer number of them, and unlike the Helots, they were not spread unevenly about the place. Instead, they were arrayed around the periphery with carefully considered precision, and among the Helots stood several more smaller gatherings too, each one tightly knit and motionless, despite the sea of shifting bodies around them.

Ithius' frown deepened.

"Something troubling you?" Drogo asked, spotting his expression for the first time.

"They're all armed," Ithius said, a knot of tension creeping into his tone as he nodded toward the Spartans.

Drogo seemed to consider that for a moment before replying.

"After the riots yesterday, and with so many of our people gathered together now in one place, I suppose you can hardly blame them for being cautious," he said with a shrug.

Ithius tapped the reins he held thoughtfully with his index finger, then nodded.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, but that tiny creeping doubt in the back of his mind refused to go away.

With a final protesting groan, he reined in his horses at the edge of the crowd of people, Trellus and Drogo wasting no time in dismounting and moving out to mingle with their fellows. Ithius was less eager. Instead he remained seated for a moment, watching the crowd warily. How many of his people must have come here from the city? With the numbers gathered, it was surely not every Helot in Sparta standing before him, but it must have been a sizeable portion of the overall Helot population nevertheless. Had they been in the city, they would have been everywhere, spread hither and thither through streets and houses, working in the taverns, markets and palaces. Now, here they all were, gathered closely together as he had never seen them before.

Something about that thought made Ithius feel uneasy.

Without really thinking about it, he leaned forward, feeling beneath his wagon's seat and letting out a small sigh of relief as his fingers made contact with the boiled leather scabbard that held his sword. He had not really known why he had brought it, but now that he was here, he felt all the better for having it with him. Retrieving the weapon from where it lay, he placed it across his back, and fastened the leather harness that would hold it there across his chest. Just having it close at hand gave him some small measure of comfort, and he wasted no more time in clambering down from the wagon and mingling with the crowd.

He was moderately surprised at how many people he recognised as he passed through the mass of Helots. Of course he knew a great many of his people. He could not immediately remember all their names, but still, the sheer number of familiar faces scattered all about him was at once heartening and at the same time, deeply troubling. Something was not right about this, and the more he saw, the more he was convinced of it.

He had to find Drogo and Trellus, but what would he say when he did? That they must stop this now? Stop his people receiving the freedom so many of them had spent a lifetime waiting for, all because he had developed a case of eleventh hour jitters? He smiled ruefully to himself and wondered if this was how a groom felt on the morning of his wedding day.

Suddenly, there was a light tap on his shoulder, and Ithius span rapidly, his every sense alert, only to cause the smaller man behind him to start suddenly.

"Forgive me, Ithius," the man said. "I did not mean to startle you."

He had a thin face, but with widely spaced eyes that made him somewhat resemble a fish. His frame was slim, and the lack of real muscle on him suggested a household worker rather than a rough and tumble labourer like Trellus. Though Ithius could not place the man's name, something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

"I'm sorry too," Ithius replied "I'm a little on edge at the moment,"

"And understandably so," the smaller man replied. "So many people together in one place always makes me feel tense as well. My master's banquets are particularly troublesome. He always invites so many people."

Ithius nodded politely.

"And your master would be?"

The smaller man smiled with sudden understanding.

"I see," he said, "you don't recognise me then. I suppose I can hardly blame you. I was only kitchen staff when you received your freedom last year. I am one of King Leonidas' house Helots."

Suddenly a wave of recognition flooded over Ithius.

"Of course!" he smiled warmly. "Pentelos! Double the apologies my friend! I should have recognised you."

The smaller man smiled back and shrugged with a 'what can you do' expression on his face.

"It's quite alright," he said. "I doubt I would remember me either."

Ithius chuckled lightly and for a moment felt the tense knot of worry tied at the base of his spine loosen slightly.

"A grim day for those of us who serve Leonidas," Pentelos said, his face straightening as he looked about him at the crowd. "He was always fair handed and even tempered. A fine man and a King and master to be proud of."

Ithius swallowed and nodded, feeling a queasy sensation of creeping guilt in the pit of his stomach. He had never felt more ashamed than he had this morning when trying to tell Leonidas of the choice he had been forced to make. He could still remember Callisto's expression as the truth of what was happening had finally dawned on her. He had thought she was going to gut him there and then, and he still half expected her to be lurking in the crowd somewhere with a dagger ready, fully prepared to make good on that final vicious promise to him.

"A dark day indeed," he agreed morosely. "I, for one, am sorry for the part I had to play in it."

"None of us blame you," Pentelos replied glancing nervously about himself in a manner that surprised Ithius. What did he have to be nervous about? "You did what you felt was right, for the good of all of us."

"And betrayed my oldest friend," Ithius replied, then muttered softly to himself; "My best friend."

Pentelos nodded.

"Such is the way for those who must lead," he said, glancing about warily in the same manner as before. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he reached out, taking Ithius' hand in his own and pressing something secretively into his palm.

"King Leonidas understood that," he said quietly, then turned and vanished quickly into the crowd before Ithius could say anything else.

He stood, quiet and confused for a moment, staring after the strange little man. What had he meant when he said that Leonidas understood? Slowly, he looked down at his hand and what exactly it was Pentelos had passed to him.

It was a small scrap of papyrus, folded into even quarters, and crumpled from having been carried in a clenched fist.

Unconsciously, he glanced suspiciously from left to right, as Pentelos had done moments before, then caught himself doing it and smiled ruefully. He was beginning to jump at shadows. With a deep breath, he reached down with his free hand and unfolded the scrap of parchment.

Leonidas' hand writing stared back at him. That same feeling of guilt from earlier churned inside his gut, and as he began to read, he felt a hard lump of sorrow form deep in his chest.

_'To my dearest friend,' _the letter began.

_'First, I feel I must offer my apologies for Callisto. She is passionate, and not particularly good at dealing with loss, as I am only just coming to understand.'_

"Could've fooled me," Ithius muttered to himself, rubbing gently at the livid bruise on his cheek before continuing on.

_'I would say not to worry over much about her; that what she said and did was merely in the heat of the moment and that deep down she has a good heart. Ultimately though, I think we are both well aware that that is far from the truth. Her past speaks to quite the contrary. In any event, I would let you know, by means of this missive as the only avenue now left open to me, that I bear you no similar ill will. The choice you made was for the good of your people as you understood it. After everything my father taught us both growing up together, I would have been disappointed in you had you put our friendship first.'_

Ithius swallowed deeply as he continued to read.

_'Make no mistake though my friend, your choice has most likely led to my demise. While I understand your reasons for having made it, I feel it important to inform you that you may have been misled. What is written herein, I could not say in person, as I am only now beginning to fully understand the depths of conspiracy within our own city. I have been to consult with an old acquaintance from our childhood..."_

"Miranda," Ithius breathed softly, wondering what the Oracle had had to say about everything taking place in Sparta.

_'...and she, along with Callisto, has convinced me, beyond a shadow of doubt, of a very real threat far beyond that posed to us by the Persians and Xerxes. There is a third force at work in all this; an ancient enemy of the Gods playing us all off against one another, and all toward a goal that is too terrible to imagine. It is for this reason that Callisto has come to us. She has been set against this force by Zeus himself...'_

Ithius' eyes widened as he read that. Could it really be true? It sounded preposterous by any measure of sanity, but Leonidas was not one prone to wild flights of fancy. If he believed in this threat, then it must be something worthy of concern. Ithius had had his own suspicions of course. He and Callisto had spoken of as much when she had raised her doubts about the Followers and their priest Pelion, but to have it confirmed by Leonidas too...

He gritted his teeth and continued to read.

_'...I implore you Ithius, to watch out for her on her mission. The Gods have set her to this task alone, and I fear she is ill equipped to deal with the pressures being placed on her. She is a woman lost on a knife edge, and my duty to Sparta carries me away to a place from where I doubt I will be able to offer such assistance as she needs. I ask you now, not as your King, but as the friend of your childhood, to act in my stead and to help her find her way again. Peace has never been an easy path to tread – for any of us it would seem – but for her, I think it will be most difficult of all. The results though, should she achieve it, could very well be glorious._

_Your friend,_

_Leonidas'_

Ithius puffed out his cheeks then let out a long low exhalation. He was not entirely sure what to make of the letter. Was Leonidas right? Was Callisto really some kind of weapon sent down by the Gods to do battle with some ancient enemy? If so, what did any of this have to do with the Followers and Sparta?

And were the Helots all tied up in it too?

A cold sense of dread began to creep up his spine as he reread the letter, hoping that he had missed something, some important detail that would make everything that bit clearer. There was nothing though. He looked up suddenly as a horrible thought began to occur to him, but before it could take full form, he caught sight of Drogo and Trellus emerging from the crowd of people.

"There you are!" Drogo announced.

"We were beginning to think we'd lost you in all of this," he continued, and gestured sweepingly to the milling mass of Helots all about them as he did so.

"I'm sorry," Ithius said, hurriedly crumpling the note and shoving it into the folds of his travelling cloak as surreptitiously as he could manage. "I was delayed by an old friend."

"Nothing serious I trust?" Trellus asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

"I'm not sure," Ithius replied, letting his eyes scan the crowd for anything amiss, before turning back to Drogo.

"Does nothing about any of this strike you as wrong?"

"Wrong?" Trellus laughed. "What could be wrong? We've worked toward this for generations, Ithius, and now, finally, after all that work and sacrifice, freedom is within our grasp."

"And that's just it," Ithius replied. "Why now? Why at this time, right when they need our strength at their side the most, would they give us a choice in the matter?"

"Because we did not give _them_ one," Trellus replied firmly. "Even Sparta cannot fight a war on two fronts, and they would have exactly that if they had not given us what we demanded."

Slowly, the nebulous concerns Ithius had begun to have earlier returned and started to coalesce steadily at the corners of his mind, only to finally cohere into a horrifying vision of what was awaiting them.

"What kind of a war would we have given them?" he said slowly, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

Trellus' eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What?" he said, seemingly taken aback by Ithius' question.

"The Spartans are legends on the open field," Ithius began. "It takes massively superior numbers to best them, and cavalry wouldn't go amiss either."

"We have the numbers..." Trellus began in protest.

"...But not the training, nor the majority of us the skill at arms," Ithius replied, cutting off the other man's argument before he could even continue to make it. They did not have time to be debating this. If he was right then they were all in grave danger. "On an open battlefield, we could never hope to defeat them."

"We would not need to have met them out in the open," Trellus said shaking his head. "They're centralised, we are not. We have the Outer City, and the surrounding territories. Our numbers and dispersal are such that we could have hit them in a dozen different locations at once. Even the great Spartan army cannot be in two places at the same time."

Ithius nodded.

"Exactly," he said, motioning to the crowd around them. "But look around you now, and tell me what you see."

Trellus glanced about, clearly not keeping up.

"Our people," he said, his brow still furrowed in confusion. "All of them gathered as one, in solidarity for our cause..."

Next to him, a look of growing discomfort had begun to form on Drogo's face, only to now switch to one of outright shock as he latched on to what Ithius was driving at.

"...and all in one place," he finished on Trellus' behalf, glancing nervously at the other Helot as he did so. The big man's face went white as fresh fallen snow as Drogo spoke.

"Like fish in a barrel," Ithius said with a nod. "This is a trap, and we've walked right into it."

"You can't be serious," Trellus said. "The Spartans would never..."

"Who knows what they might do pushed hard enough," Ithius snapped angrily back at him. "We have to get everyone out of here, and we have to do it now before its..."

A deep, sonorous horn blast echoed loudly out over the fields, causing all heads to turn as one to turn toward the dais

"HELOTS OF SPARTA! Your attention if I may be so bold!"

Ithius straightened, looking out across the sea of heads in front of him toward the stone dais, and cursed softly at what he saw.

"...too late," he finished softly.

The Ephors had arrived on the dais, along with Demosthenes and a small group of his trusted lieutenants standing close at hand as if on guard. Nestus had stepped clear of the group, and was now standing with his arms outstretched in a gesture of magnanimity as his powerful resonant voice carried over crowds of people before him.

"Helots of Sparta!" he announced again, somewhat softer this time as the crowd began to pay more attention to him. "We, the Ephors, honoured representatives of the Spartan people, are proud to stand before you on this, a most auspicious of days," he began.

A small ripple of excited anticipation ran through the crowd as he spoke. It was rare for the Ephors to speak publicly, and almost unheard of for them to address the Helots so directly. Ithius had to hand it to the old man; he knew exactly how to capture people's attention.

"As custodians of these lands, we, the First Citizens of Sparta, have long held your people under our stewardship," Nestus said grandly. "As we have protected these lands, so too have we protected you, and watched over you as your people have grown..."

The crowd shifted uneasily at that, and Ithius could tell that they were not sure whether to be humbled by the presence of the Ephors, or insulted by Nestus' recasting of them as sheltered children rather than the owned slaves they actually were. He imagined that the Ephors had probably intended for both to be true.

"Pompous ass," he heard Trellus mutter beside him.

"...And grow you have," Nestus continued, "into a fine people! A strong, proud people, straight backed and forthright! You have grown beyond the need for our stewardship, the need for our protection."

He paused to clear his throat for effect, and when he spoke again, his voice was filled with a sense of pride, that no matter how affected, still managed to stir his audience.

"Countless times, you have proven your worth upon the battlefield and your wisdom in council. As reward then, it is my sincerest honour, on behalf of all free thinking Spartans, to grant to all of you present here, on this hallowed ground of ancient rite and ritual, that self same honour."

His voice began to rise in intensity and conviction as he continued, the Helots standing before him now completely enraptured.

"But know this my friends! Freedom is not something you are born to! It is something that must be earned and fought for every single day. Today The Helots have finally proven they are capable of taking on that struggle, but it is a struggle that is never ending. We, the First Citizens of Sparta, are convinced it is a struggle you are capable of making, and so hence forth, let it be known that all Helots stand alongside us as free citizens of Sparta!"

As he finished, his voice rose to the level of a triumphant shout that made the crowd erupt in cheers. Even men Ithius recognised as die hards in their stance against the Spartans had their hands raised in applause. Nestus accepted it all with great grace, bowing deep and low as shouted cries of gratitude and pledges of unswerving loyalty were called up from all about him. Ithius knew that many of them were spoken only in the heat of the moment, and that come the next day, old enmities would begin to fester once more. Still, Nestus had spoken well, if untruthfully. For now his people were simply basking in the light of their newly awarded freedom.

Carefully, he turned on the spot, surveying the many Spartan soldiers that still surrounded them all. So far none of them had moved. Indeed, most seemed relaxed now that Nestus had made his speech and the air of tension he had been sensing seemed to be slowly easing away, leaving only a sense of delighted exultation in its wake.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe there truly was nothing to fear here, and he, Leonidas and Callisto had simply been jumping at shadows. He turned to regard Drogo and Trellus, both of whom wore quite different expressions to on another. Drogo seemed as taken aback by the seeming honesty of the whole affair as Ithius, and he glanced at the other man warily at out of the corner of his eye. Ithius could only shrug in return. Trellus simply grinned at them both victoriously, and Ithius found himself wishing he could share in the other man's sense of jubilation, but instead, all he could think of was Leonidas. Unconsciously, he fingered the note through the folds of his travelling cloak, the crumpled papyrus fuelling his doubts all over again. Even with all the delighted people surrounding him and the joyous atmosphere upon the air, he still could not shake that gnawing sensation eating away at the back of his mind that this was all wrong somehow.

For a moment he simply watched those people all about him, then finally, he turned on his heel and began to make his way back through the crowd toward his wagon, nodding only briefly to Trellus and Drogo as he passed them. Drogo nodded in return but Trellus had already turned away and was delivering hearty congratulations to those around him. Ithius just wanted to be away from here, away from all the smiling faces and the enthusiastic back slapping. The cost for this moment had been high for him.

Too high maybe.

As he began to make his way back through the crowd, he wondered if perhaps it was his own sense of guilt that had made him so suspicious of the Ephors' offer. Could he really just be torturing himself as a punishment for his betrayal of Leonidas without even realising it? Was he really that much of a mess inside? He found himself wondering how much guilt Callisto truly felt about all the terrible things she had done. He knew she felt it. He had seen it behind her eyes, even when they were at their most fierce and dangerous. In truth though, he was not really sure how much she even understood the emotion, or how much she even understood herself come to think of it. When she spoke, she certainly did not seem particularly concerned about her past actions. Was she really that callous or was it all just a mask? He knew one thing for certain. However much she claimed to hate him, or to hate Xena, or all the other numerous people she deemed to have wronged her, the person she hated most was herself.

He was almost back at his wagon when the crowd began to fall silent once more.

Frowning slightly, and wondering what it was that could silence so many of his people without so much as a crossed word or angered shout, he turned and began to make his way back through the crowd.

On the dais, much to his surprise, Demosthenes had stepped forward to speak.

"Fellow Spartans," he called out over the crowd, "if Spartans you can truly be said to be..."

Ithius felt his muscles tense and his heart skip a beat at the tone of Demosthenes' voice. There was no note of congratulation in it, no happiness on behalf of the celebrating Helots. Instead, it carried only derision and disgust.

"...I am afraid it is my solemn duty to interrupt these festivities," he continued, and Nestus turned to him suddenly, a look of confusion writ large across his face.

"Demosthenes," he said, the same confusion evident on his face now echoing in his tone as well. "Would you care to explain exactly what it is that you think you're doing."

Demosthenes turned to the Ephor and gave a respectful nod of his head.

"Of course," he said coldly. "I am doing my duty. As a King of Sparta, it is among my responsibilities to ensure that our city's laws are enforced, and that those who breach them are punished."

Nestus frowned.

"But these people have committed no crime," he said.

Demosthenes shook his head grimly.

"I am afraid that you are mistaken, honoured Ephor. They have, all of them, committed the most grievous of crimes." His eyes narrowed as he spoke, and slid sideways to regard the assembled Helots darkly.

At the edge of his sight, Ithius could just make out Trellus elbowing his way forward through the crowd and toward the dais, a look of terrible fury on his face. Ithius wanted to call out to him, to all of them, and tell them to run, now, while they still had the chance, but like the rest of them, he could not, his voice lost to him as he stood transfixed by the drama unfolding before him.

"What nonsense is this?" Nestus snapped irritatedly. "First Leonidas and his insanity, and now you too? We will brook no more of this disobedience Demosthenes. I order you to speak plainly. What crime have they committed?"

"Betrayal," Demosthenes spat viciously. "Treason against their sovereign Lords and state."

"What treason!" Trellus cried out in protest as he forced his way out of the crowd and up onto the dais. "When have we ever done anything but what Sparta ordered us to!?"

Two of Demosthenes' lieutenants moved to intercept the big Helot, but Demosthenes halted them with a gesture and stepped forward to face Trellus unflinchingly, his hand coming to rest casually upon the sword at his hip.

"Earlier today, the noble King Leonidas departed for battle against the Persian Empire," he said, his tone suddenly low and filled with regret, and Ithius' throat ran dry as he felt ice like fingers close around his heart. Had they really been so easily tricked, and handed just enough rope to hang themselves with?

"Had I not been ordered otherwise by the honoured Ephors, I would have been at his side," Demosthenes continued. "But did he, your rightful King, not instruct you, the Helot people, to join him in making war upon them?"

"He made us an offer..." Trellus began, but Demosthenes silenced him with a piercing stare.

"Spartans do not 'offer'!" He hissed. "We command, and Helots obey! A King of Sparta, your rightful Lord and Master, commanded you to war, and you disobeyed!"

"Leonidas was acting without the permission of the council of Ephors!" Trellus objected. "If we had followed him, we would have been in defiance of their orders!"

Nestus nodded hurriedly,

"That's true!" he said, taking the opportunity to seize upon Trellus' argument and use it in an attempt to defuse the situation before it could spiral any further out of control. "Leonidas' war against Xerxes' forces is unsanctioned by Sparta. The Helots would have been guilty of treason if they had followed him into battle."

Already Ithius could tell Nestus' words were only so much wasted effort; too little, and far far far too late.

Around him, people were beginning to shift uneasily as they too began to realise the precariousness of their position. At the edges of the mustering fields, Demosthenes' soldiers now stood, rigid and unmoving, spears held upright, faces like masks of stone.

"Inconsequential!" Demosthenes retorted sharply at Trellus and Nestus. "As a King and military commander of Sparta, I do not deal in hypotheticals, only cold, hard facts. As Helots, they received an order from their rightful master; an order they were bound by law to follow, no matter the costs to themselves. As Helots, they disobeyed. Such mass disobedience can only be read as an attempt to ferment dissension and revolt against Spartan rule, and is as such, treason. Had they remained Helots, under Spartan law, it would have been for their masters to decide their punishment."

He gave Trellus a fierce glare that was as hard as plate steel.

"However, now, as free citizens of Sparta, your punishment is _mine_ to decide."

Ithius could stand the inaction no longer. Elbowing his way hurriedly through the crowd, he reached out to Drogo and seized him tightly by the arm.

"What are you..." Drogo began, but Ithius only hissed in his ear, his eyes flashing across the crowd in search of nearby Spartans as he did so.

"Just listen," he snapped sharply. "This is going to end badly. Gather up as many of our people as you can and make for my wagon."

"But..." Demosthenes began, and Ithius tightened his grip causing the other man to wince.

"Do it now," he hissed. "We are fast running out of time!"

With a pained nod, the other man turned and began gesturing quietly to the crowd around him, ushering them toward the wagon. Ithius moved in the opposite direction, attempting to do the same.

Up on the dais, Trellus was becoming increasingly desperate.

"But you can't do this!" He shouted in a voice edging close to panic. "You came to us! We had a deal!"

"With the Ephors," Demosthenes replied coldly. "Never with _me!_"

"Enough of this Demosthenes!" Nestus cut in angrily, his tone biting and sharp. "You will not carry out this punishment. We, the council of Ephors, forbid it! You and your men will stand down, and you will do so immediately!"

Demosthenes turned a hard glare on the man and snorted in derision.

"You have no power to stop me," he replied. "This is not a war to be declared, or an order to be given. This is a law to be enforced, and even you have no authority to stop it."

He turned to survey the gathered throng of Helots with a glacial stare.

"There is only one punishment to be meted out for treason against Sparta!" He announced loudly.

A ripple of panic began to spread through the crowd as he spoke, beginning close to the dais and rushing outward like a tidal wave of rawest fear. All around him, Ithius could hear the sound of soldiers hefting their spears and snapping their shields into place like the peeling strikes of doom. Without a word, he started to reach for his sword.

"SPARTANS!" Demosthenes began, and Ithius heard Trellus let out an anguished cry.

"You can't!" The big Helot shouted, leaping at the Spartan King in an attack fueled more by desperation than any real strategy. His club lashed out in a furious strike that would have caved in a lesser man's skull with a single blow.

Demosthenes was not a lesser man however.

He moved as if Trellus were underwater, taking a single back step and twisting at the hip so that the club fell wide of him, and as Trellus' follow through carried him past Demosthenes, the King's sword snaked free of its scabbard with a rasping hiss, and he whirled it high above the man's neck.

Ithius did not need to see the finishing strike. For a moment all was quiet as the crowd looked on in dumbstruck horror, then the sound of Trellus' head hitting the stone dais, followed moments later by his body crashing to the ground, jolted them out of their silence.

A scream went up from the front of the crowd, and suddenly it had become like a living thing, a wounded animal trying desperately to flee. As one, every Helot turned and began to run in all directions at once.

"EXECUTE THEM!" Demosthenes bellowed loudly over the din, his sword now smeared with fresh blood and glistening wetly in the sunlight.

The soldiers obeyed with typically brutal Spartan efficiency. As they had done at the gates only the day before, they began to advance steadily, the ring of troops around the panicking Helots slowly beginning to shrink. As they moved, they began to drum their spears against their shields in a steady, pounding rhythm that served to terrify the crowd all the more.

In desperation, at the opposite end of the field, Ithius caught sight of a small group of armed Helots bunching together in an attempt to smash a gap in the advancing Spartan line. The Spartans did not so much as flinch as the men charged at them. Along that segment of the line, they locked shields and braced, the charge crashing against them with all the effectiveness of cavalry hammering against a stone wall. The Spartans held their ground, and then retaliated, spears lashing out viciously then withdrawing, their tips now a slick and sickening crimson.

Unable to watch anymore, Ithius turned away and reached out for the nearest people he could see, a young father with the look of a farmhand, and with two small children clutching fearfully to either leg.

"What's your name?" he snapped, no longer having time for niceties as somewhere else in the crowd, he heard the sounds of a second Spartan attack, seemingly as effective as the first.

"Crixis," the man said nervously, his eyes darting back and forth across the heaving mass of people around him with a look of rapidly growing panic. "My name's Crixis."

Suddenly he gave a sharp intake of breath and a racking sob escaped him.

"By the gods!" he whispered softly to no one in particular, his voice cracking as he spoke, while his hands stroked nervously at his children's hair. "What are we going to do!?"

Ithius grabbed the man firmly by the arms and looked him in the eye.

"Crixis," he said firmly. "If you want to get your children through this, you'll listen to me."

The man's panic glazed stare slowly cleared as he met Ithius' gaze, and he swallowed then nodded, finally managing to get a hold of himself once more.

"What do I need to do?" he asked.

"Back behind me, there's a wagon," Ithius said simply. "I'm going to take you to it now. All you have to do is stay close, and try not to wander off."

Crixis nodded as Ithius span on his heel and began to make his way back through the crowd, unlimbering his sword as he went, while his eyes flashed rapidly over the crowd in big, sweeping glances to ensure that there were no Spartans close at hand.

He did not look hard enough.

As his eyes swept right for the fourth time, he heard Crixis let out a cry of alarm, and as he span back to the left, he caught sight of it; a Spartan spear thrusting at him from out of the crowd, its point shining wickedly as he barely managed to sidestep it. Crixis' warning had come a shade too late though, and the edge of the spear tip grazed cruelly across his ribs just beneath his left arm.

Hissing in pain, he reached up and grabbed the spear's haft on its follow through, then yanked hard, tugging it's owner into view from out of the crowd. It was one of Demosthenes' men alright, and he came flanked on either side by two more soldiers, each one also carrying a spear poised to strike.

As the Spartan soldier stumbled forward, suddenly off balance thanks to Ithius' unexpected resistance, Ithius did not let the opportunity go to waste. Maintaining his grip on the spear, he stepped inside the soldier's guard, driving the spear tip down into the ground and stamping hard on the haft so that it snapped in two. Then, with a furious growl, he ripped the remainder of the haft from the Spartans grasp, spinning it in his grip so that it whipped back around in a backhanded blow that caught the soldier hard across the temple. The man flew sideways, eyes suddenly glazed and unseeing to collide heavily with one of the two men accompanying him. The impact sent both men crashing to the ground in a heap and left Ithius alone with only the third man to handle.

This one was decidedly more cautious than his two compatriots. Now in close quarters, he tossed his spear to one side, and drew his own sword, circling Ithius dangerously, before suddenly darting in with a speed impressive for a man his size. Their swords clashed loudly, the sheer ringing of steel on steel filling the air, even with the chaos all about them.

With a grunt, Ithius shoved hard against the other man's guard, and for a moment managed to force his attacker back so that he could buy himself some valuable thinking time. The soldier smiled darkly as he began to circle Ithius again. Ithius scowled as he circled back in a counter direction to his attacker, going over the man's technique in his head as he did so. His opponent was large, heavier than he, and quick to boot, but he was also prone to throwing his weight forward on his instep. Ithius gave a brief mental smile. He already knew how to deal with this.

As the soldier braced on his back foot, ready to lunge forward in a fresh assault, Ithius back stepped in anticipation, his feet rasping in the dirt. Sure enough, the man threw himself forward, but instead of meeting Ithius' parry to arrest his forward momentum as he had anticipated, he instead ended up meeting nothing but air. Suddenly overbalanced and stumbling forward, Ithius wasted no time in sidestepping, his sword blade sliding between the gaps in the other man's armour, and into the soft flesh without resistance. His opponent's response was little more than a muted gasp of surprise and pain. The man managed to stumble forward a few more steps, his hands clutching tightly at the growing red wetness on his side, and then collapsed down to the ground with a muffled thud of armour against dirt, his final breath rattling hollowly in his throat.

Spinning back, Ithius caught Crixis watching him with a stunned expression.

"You... you killed them!" the man stammered.

"Would you rather I'd let them kill you?" Ithius said matter-of-factly, wiping his sword blade clean on the grass before turning and setting off through the crowd again. "Now come on. It's not much further."

Around the edges of the crowd, the screaming had turned bloody and fearful as the Spartan assault began in earnest, and the crowd began to retreat backward on itself. People who had been running one way were now turning to run in the opposite direction, not realising that those others at their backs were already doing vice versa. Somewhere in the ground, deep beneath his feet, Ithius felt the ground begin to tremble slightly.

Suddenly, the crowd parted and he caught sight of his wagon, Drogo standing close by and ushering a number of Helot families into the back, while those already in the wagon set about unloading what little cargo there was in a desperate effort to create more space.

"Drogo!" he shouted above the screeching clamour all about him and broke into a quick jog that carried him quickly across the open ground between them.

The shorter man turned, a relieved look passing across his face as Ithius approached.

"Thank the gods you're here!" he said, running to meet him. "I was beginning to think we'd have to set off without you."

"In a way, you still will," Ithius replied, helping Crixis and his children into the back of the wagon, then crossing to the front of it and beginning to unhitch one of the horses used to pull it.

"What are you talking about?" Drogo said. "We need to get out of here now, before the Spartans kill us all."

Ithius shook his head as he mounted the horse. The animal cast a wary glance back over its shoulder at him, not used to being ridden bareback, but otherwise remaining still.

"You really think the Spartans haven't already closed off every avenue out of here?" he said. "You know them better than that Drogo. They've got us dead to rights."

"So what do we do then?" Drogo asked, a tinge of panic beginning to edge his voice now as well.

"_You're _going to follow me in the wagon," Ithius said. "I'm going to ride ahead and cut you a pathway out of here. When I tell you to, you make for the forests to the west, and you stay there."

"And what about you?" Drogo said. "What are you going to do?"

"If I survive the next five minutes?" Ithius shrugged. "I'm going to try and find the one person who might still be able to help us. Then we see if I can survive _that_."

"Who..." Drogo began, frowning as he tried to work out who exactly it was Ithius was talking about. Slowly, he raised his eyebrows in surprise as the answer began to dawn on him.

"Oh..." he said slowly, his mouth rolling the 'o' sound. "Do you really think she'll be able to save us?"

Ithius shrugged again.

"Baby steps Drogo," he said, tugging on his mounts reins and easing it to a brisk canter. "Baby steps. First we get out of here, then I try to figure out the rest."

Drogo nodded, and quickly clambered into the wagon driver's seat, grabbing the reins of the single remaining horse and flicking them to get the animal moving. The horse gave a protesting whinny as it strained against a greater weight than it was used to, and for a single horrifying moment, Ithius thought they may have overloaded the wagon to the point where one horse would not be able to pull it. Then, with a terrific creaking sound, the wagon began to roll forward, its thick wooden axles groaning under the strain.

Relieved that the wagon was at least moving now, Ithius turned his attention to the dirt trail ahead of them, praying that when the time came, the horse would be able to pull the wagon fast enough to escape any Spartan pursuit.

Suddenly, his horse gave an alarmed cry and pranced nervously sideways as a powerful tremor, emanating from deep in the earth below them, rocked the mustering fields. Its sheer force only added to the confusion taking place behind them. Ithius gritted his teeth and clung grimly to the horse's neck, whispering softly in its ear in an attempt to calm the skittish animal. Finally, it settled, and he straightened, urging it back to a brisk trot that carried him on ahead of the rumbling wagon.

As they rounded the corner of the hill, he caught sight of a line of five Spartans spread across the trail up ahead, their shields now raised, and spears extended, ready to catch any approaching Helots should they try to escape this way. At the sight of Ithius and the wagon, they began to advance, their sandaled feet beating out an ominous march as they moved up the trail toward him.

"Follow me in, but not too close," he called back to Drogo, then turned to face the Spartans again.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered from behind his fixed jaw, then, with a loud yell of defiance, he booted his steed in the flanks, riding it hard and straight for the Spartan line. As he rode at them, the Spartans braced behind their shields, their spears angling upward, preparing to catch the galloping steed in its flanks when it reached them.

Ithius had no intention of bringing the animal within reach of their spears though. Instead he carefully leaned forward, gripping tightly at the horse's neck and unwrapping one of his legs until he was barely hanging on. The animal's neck and mane were now the only things supporting him while his legs trailed at its side. Gritting his teeth hard and praying that his horse did not buck and throw him, he tugged hard on the mounts reins as it closed to within easy sprinting distance. The horse whinnied in protest, but still managed to come to a skidding stop, its hooves sliding on the uneven trail. Ithius felt his stomach lurch as his own forward momentum continued, but before it could fling him clear, he swung his legs down to the ground, hitting it at a dead sprint and unsheathing his sword as he went. His pounding strides could barely keep up with the speed his momentum carried him at, and before the Spartans had time to readjust their spears, he was on them, the first man within his reach falling to a sword thrust to the neck.

As he had seen Callisto do the day before, he used the gap created to by the death of the first soldier to drive a wedge into the Spartan line, lashing out left and right as Demosthenes' soldiers desperately tried to adjust to the unexpected close quarters battle they now found themselves in. The second soldier fell to a measured strike across his hamstrings, and the third and fourth to well placed gut thrusts. The fifth man, whom Ithius presumed was the captain, had his sword free at this point, and was already moving to intercept Ithius with a vengeful gleam in his eye when the wagon thundered through. As it passed the soldier, Drogo leaned down out of the driver's seat, his own sword outstretched to carve a heavy line across the man's spine.

Ithius sagged visibly as the captain fell, propping his sword against the ground and leaning heavily on it, his chest heaving from exhaustion. Looking up, he nodded his thanks to Drogo as the wagon rumbled off up the trail. The last he saw of them was the squat man standing in the driver's seat and staring back down the trail toward him, while the few families they had managed to save huddled quietly in the back of the wagon. Then they rounded in a bend in the trail and were beyond his sight, leaving him standing alone and still leaning on his sword.

Beneath his feet, he felt the earth turn again as a fresh tremor ripped through it, this one the most powerful yet. In the distance the din of slaughter was fading as the Spartans began to complete their grisly work, and Ithius felt the muscles of his jaw tighten reflexively. With a pained grunt, he reached up and touched a hand to his ribs where the Spartan spear had grazed him earlier. It came away bloody but much less so than he had imagined. Cursing silently inside his own head, he turned and began to make his way back toward his horse.

How could they have been so stupid? How could they have so blindly walked into such an obvious trap? But then, why should it have been obvious? How could any one of them have anticipated this? He had never liked Demosthenes, it was true, but he had thought the man to at least be honourable, and possessed of an unshakeable conviction in the rule of Spartan law. This... this cold-hearted barbarism was like nothing he could have imagined, even from someone with the reputation of Callisto, let alone a supposedly upstanding man like Demosthenes. What had happened to him to make him do this?

Shaking his head, he let out a long, tired sigh, the pain in his side beginning to take its toll as his adrenaline started to fade. He had reached his horse now, and the animal was still stirring nervously after the last tremor. The coppery scent of fresh blood and sweat that now hung in the air probably wasn't helping either.

"Easy there girl," he said, reaching out and soothing the animal as best as he could manage. "Easy. Easy."

Slowly his horse ceased its wild prancing, then, instead, it began to nuzzle close to his palm as if he were carrying oats with which to feed it. Ithius smiled sadly at that, then, with another long sigh, he began to clamber wearily onto its back.

"There, there," he whispered softly, patting the animals neck gently as he did so in an effort to keep it calm. "It's all over now."

He cast a dark glance over his shoulder and back toward the mustering fields. Eerie silence was his only response.

"It's all over."

* * *

The midday sun was already past its zenith as Callisto stepped up to the dry stone wall at the edge of what had once been Soriacles' land. It was quite an unassuming place now she saw it; just a number of large wheat fields, the wheat itself now turning a brilliant gold as the harvest season drew near. Each field was divided by walls similar to the one at which she now stood. Beyond the fields, it bordered a large forest that swept up into the foothills of the same mountains which Sparta itself had been built in the shadow of.

Getting out of Sparta had actually proved much easier than she had thought it would. She had imagined that she and Athelis would have to concoct some kind of elaborate escape plan to get past Demosthenes' guards at the city gates. Much to her surprise though, the gates had been largely deserted, manned only by a skeleton force of what remained of Leonidas' troops, all of whom had been more than happy to allow her to pass without incident. One of the soldiers had even saluted her as she had approached. She had not really been sure what to make of that. Besides, she was more concerned about where exactly it was Demosthenes' soldiers had disappeared to.

Their absence had not been her only cause for concern however. As they had exited the Inner City and headed out into Helot Town, Callisto had again been surprised by how deserted the place had seemed. Streets that had been bustling and thriving with people only days before, were now deathly silent, and she had only been able to catch occasional glimpses of occupation here and there.

She glanced back toward the city now, squinting to see it in the distance. It lay a few miles to the east, and Callisto felt a dark sensation of unease crawling beneath her skin as she looked at it. Something was not right this day, and try as she might, the feeling that all her efforts were simply being made too late, would not go away.

Somewhere deep beneath her feet, she felt another tremor ripple up toward her as Athelis stepped up at her side.

"Another earthquake," he said, placing his hand on the wall to better judge the tremor's strength.

Callisto nodded.

"That's the the fifth one so far today," she said. The quakes had started about two hours before as they had been picking their way across the countryside. The first one had been little more than some slight vibrations, but they had been growing steadily in strength and intensity as more had occurred. After the second, Callisto had begun to feel uneasy. Something about them made her think back to her time in the Underworld, and how Hades' fortress had shaken that night in the banquet hall.

Next to her, Athelis released his grip on the wall as the quake subsided.

"They're getting weaker again," he said, then glanced at her. "You think its something to do with the Followers don't you?"

Callisto shrugged.

"I'm hardly the expert on them now am I?" she said, meeting his gaze evenly.

"Well, even I don't know if they can cause earthquakes or not," Athelis replied. "I always just thought Pelion was some crazy old man. Never once suspected there might actually be some weight behind this cult of his."

Callisto gave a sigh, and vaulted easily over the wall, turning back to face him as she cleared it.

"Not much use then really, are you," she said.

Athelis followed her over the wall with decidedly less grace.

"That depends on what you think you need me for," he replied, then glanced past her, toward the forest at the end of the fields.

"You think the tomb's in there?" he said, nodding toward the tree line.

Callisto turned and looked toward the forest.

"Miranda said there were springs of Pneuma running under these mountains," she said simply. "I don't see where else it could be."

She glanced up into the sky, judging the sun's position carefully. There were just past midday. Ideally an approach at night would lend them more surprise should her suspicions be correct and the Followers be present. On the other hand, finding the entrance to an underground tomb in a forest in the dark would be like trying to find needle in a particularly large haystack, and thanks to the issue of time, that haystack was now burning down around them. Leonidas would already be half way to Thermopylae by now if he was making good pace, and at her best guess, Callisto thought he might be able to hold the pass for a couple of days; four at the most depending on the casualties they would inevitably take. Even if she could find the tomb though, she would then have to return to Sparta, convince the Ephors of Leonidas' case, muster the Spartan army and then march it South. That could, if she was truly honest with herself, take days. The more she thought about it, the more she realised the time she had thought they had may have already run out.

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. She would not let herself think like that. Not this time. This was it, her one chance to prove to the world that she was more than just Xena's nemesis, more than just some bitter, twisted creature whose only skill was causing misery and pain. She _would_ save Leonidas and she would never lose anyone else, _ever again_.

"Come on," she said, looking back at Athelis. "Time's running out."

Athelis nodded and began to follow after her, as they moved out into the field.

"You know," he began, following in the wake she was carving through the golden wheat, "I've been trying to figure you out since you saved us on the road, and I still can't decide exactly why you're involved in all of this."

Callisto glanced back at him with narrowed eyes, but did not break stride.

"Your point being?" she said icily.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he replied. "You're Callisto. _The_ Callisto. Blood and chaos is kind of your reputation, not throwing yourself into harms way to try and save some high and mighty muckety muck you only just met two days ago."

"And what if I told you I'd had a change of heart?" Callisto said, trying hard to convince herself it was true and failing miserably.

Athelis gave a derisive snort.

"You're trying to be funny right?" he said, his voice carrying a hard edge to it now. "People like you don't change. Pelion taught me that."

"Then how would you explain it then?" Callisto said, clinging tightly to her temper, but unable to keep the vicious bite out of her tone. "If you have some big secret for dealing with the world, and how cruel it can be, please do tell. It might actually help me sleep a little better when all I can see at night is my home burning to the ground!"

Athelis eyed her steadily as they walked, utterly nonplussed by her unexpected confession.

"People like you do things for others when they get something in return," he said coldly. Callisto did her best to ignore him.

"We're wasting daylight," she said, quickening her stride and trying to change the subject. Behind her she heard Athelis let out a short, dry, bark of laughter.

"HA!" He said, suddenly sounding incredibly satisfied with himself, quickening his stride to bring him level with her. "That's it isn't it!? That's it! I knew there was something else behind all this! What is it? What deal did you make?"

Callisto felt something snap inside of her, and the sudden urge to rip is smug face off with her bare hands surged darkly in her gut. Without warning, she rounded on him, fury in her eyes as her hand snaked out like a striking cobra to seize him by the throat and drag his face close to hers.

"People like me?" she hissed at him, her eyes blazing with fury as her fingers wrapped close around his windpipe. "People like me!? You know nothing about me, Athelis. Nothing! People like me start out as people like you! If you want to find out more, you should take a long look in the mirror. You'll see my face staring right back at you!"

Athelis opened his mouth to gasp for air as she squeezed tighter and tighter, feeling the cartilage beneath her fingers begin to give under the pressure. Then, as his eyes began to flutter at the edges of consciousness, she released her grip, letting him fall to his hands and knees in the dirt.

Rotating her neck so the base of her skull gave a resounding pop, she moved to squat beside him, her eyes narrowed and sharp as he continued cough and splutter.

"Well?" she said, dusting her hands theatrically as she did so.

"Well what?" Athelis managed to splutter back, still trying to draw enough air into his lungs to prevent him from slipping into unconsciousness.

"Did our delightful little chat answer your question?"

The mercenary glared at her furiously but managed to force himself back to a kneeling position, his hands shaking where they rested on his thighs, and give pained nod.

"Most thoroughly, thank you," he snarled back sarcastically.

Callisto ignored his sass and clambered back to her feet, brushing her knees dismissively as she went.

"Good," she smiled sweetly, and turned on her heel to stalk off across the field again. Was he right about her? Why was she doing any of this? Was it for Elysium? For Leonidas? For herself? When had everything become so mixed up and turned around? Clenching her fists she redoubled her pace. Whatever the reasons were, the fact that she had so many told her that it was worth doing.

Athelis did not follow her immediately. Instead he stood, massaging his throat ruefully before quickening his pace to a slow jog in order to catch up to her.

"Hey!" he called after as she approached the edge of the forest. "Hey! Listen! I think I owe you..."

Callisto cut him off with a raised hand as she drew to a stop at the edge of the tree line, her ears straining intently. Somewhere off in the distance, she could hear bare snippets of conversation, each on fluttering uncertainly on the light afternoon breeze.

"Quiet!" she hissed at him.

"You hear something?" Athelis said, keeping his voice low, and Callisto tilted an eyebrow at him as if to say 'of course'.

Athelis nodded in understanding and lifted his hand to his lips to mime stitching them closed.

With a resigned sigh, and a shake of her head, she turned back to face the forest again, her ears straining to pick up any more noise. Why did he have to be so infuriating? She did not think that, beyond Joxer, she had ever met anyone with such a profound gift for causing irritation.

Then she heard it again; another brief snatch of conversation coming from somewhere to her right

"... careful... drop... Brother Pelion... displeased..." was all she could make out, but it was more than enough.

Turning to Athelis, she flicked her head toward the source of the voices and drew her sword slowly. Athelis nodded in return and copied her, drawing that familiar notched dagger and his own sword as he fell into step beside her.

Cautiously, the two of them set off at a steady creep through the undergrowth, flitting between the trees as stealthily as they could manage beneath the glare of the sun overhead.

As they moved closer the voices gradually began to become clearer and more distinct, until Callisto found herself getting a better idea of where precisely they were coming from. A soft, sulphuric smell hung on the air as well, the exact same smell she could remember from the temple of Artemis, and later, the temple of Ares.

She turned to glance at Athelis who was also sniffing the air softly beside her.

"Pneuma?" he mouthed silently at her.

She nodded.

"And where there's Pneuma there's..." she whispered softly as she came to a halt behind a particularly thick birch tree. Just up ahead, the forest parted and beyond the trees, she could make out robed figures moving back and forth in a small clearing.

"...Followers," she heard Athelis breathe next to her. "Guess you were right,"

She nodded again.

"Guess I was," she said, flashing him a smug, self satisfied grin. "But then, that's no great surprise now is it?"

Athelis rolled his eyes and gestured quietly to the left, before moving off in that direction to silently flank the clearing.

Still grinning, and with as much stealth as she could manage, Callisto set off in the opposite direction, darting across the open ground between trees in short sharp bursts of motion when she was convinced none of the Followers were looking her way.

In less than a minute she had closed the distance between herself and the edge of clearing, and was now huddled within spitting distance of the robed figures beyond.

Peering out across the clearing, there were three men that she could see. Each one was clad in those familiar crimson robes of the Followers that Callisto was quickly learning to despise. They were clustered together around a pair of wagons, one of which was already fully loaded with barrels, and the other, half so. Even from her current hiding place, Callisto could tell the barrels were the source of the burning sulphuric smell from earlier. It was more potent here, hanging thick and strong upon the early afternoon breeze and assaulting her sense of smell from all sides. One or two of the Followers even had rags lifted to their noses as they worked, loading more barrels onto the second wagon.

Toward the opposite end of the tree line, the ground began to curve upward into a series of steep slopes, that climbed up to the foothills of the mountains over which the rest of the forest spread. Part of the slope at the other end of the clearing had peeled back over the years to reveal a sheer granite rock face. Cut into this rock face was a small, dark opening, only just large enough to fit two men through side by side, and judging by the lack of illumination within, Callisto guessed it was the entrance to the tomb they had been searching for all this time.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she caught sight of a fourth figure emerging from the tunnel, rolling another heavy barrel out in front of them.

"How many more to go?" asked one of the Followers to the newcomer.

"Another ten or so," the man said, rolling the barrel to a halt at the back of one of the wagons and straightening, with a tired groan.

"Well go and get them then!" the first man said authoritatively. "We don't have time to be lazing around out here. The Soul and the Faith will be angry if we don't have these back by sun down. They can't keep delaying the initiation ceremony. Not now, when we're so close to our triumph!"

Callisto frowned to herself. What triumph were they talking about? Just what exactly were they planning? It did not appear she was going to get the answers hiding in the undergrowth. This looked like it was going to require a more... direct approach.

"What if you don't get back at all?" she asked, her voice ringing loudly across the clearing as she stepped out from her hiding place and fully into view, giving each of them a cordial smile as she did so.

"It's her," one of the Followers snarled angrily. "The one who set fire to the temple, the one who killed Marsus and the others!"

Callisto's smile darkened as she turned her attention to the man.

"Full points for observation!" she applauded sarcastically. "Any of you want to try and guess my measurements as well?"

The Follower that had spoken's lip curled up in a furious sneer, and with guttural cry of anger, he flung himself at Callisto, a thin dagger flashing into his hand from out of the folds of his robe as he did so. Callisto did not even need to attempt a parry. The man's attack was so brazen, so unsophisticated, she could have dodged it in her sleep. Without so much as a flinch, she neatly sidestepped him, and whirled her sword in a perfect cross cut that split him clean across the spine.

He was dead before he even hit the ground.

With a grin Callisto turned back to face the remaining four men, who shifted uneasily at her suddenly gleeful expression.

"Well that was refreshing!" she beamed, brandishing her bloodied sword playfully.

"Now then," she continued, tracing a finger along the length of the blade and up to its tip where she let it linger suggestively. "Which of you is up for round two?"

Three of the men glanced at one another, then toward the fourth man, standing only a pace or two behind them.

"For Cronus," he nodded to them, then as one they turned and charged her, each of them echoing his statement of 'For Cronus' as they dove at her.

Callisto only rolled her eyes. Zealots. You could never count on them to do what you wanted them to. She had been hoping that her reputation would do much of the leg work for her, and that when confronted directly, they would just hitch their robes to their knees and go scurrying back to their masters in Sparta. She simply did not have time for an extended duel with three foolish lunatics who really should have known better than to try and attack her.

Stepping forward to meet their charge, she tightened her hand on her sword, her mouth set in a tight line of grim resolve. Normally she would have taken her time with men like this, even toyed with them a little for her own entertainment, but today she did not have that luxury. Resolving to be as efficient as possible, her sword lashed out, practically humming in her hand as the first Follower fell to a cut across his abdomen. The second man went down as quickly as the first, as she whirled back, her sword thrusting sliding into and through his stomach as easily as a knife through tenderised meat. She stood for a moment, the second man still impaled on the edge of her blade as the life slowly began to ebb out of him.

The third man had circled around her when he had seen her level his first compatriot and was now coming at her from behind. Callisto barely even needed to think. Her muscles moved practically on instinct as she raised her foot to the belly of the man embedded on her sword blade and kicked hard, yanking her sword back as she did so, so that the blade was freed in half the time. Next, she pivoted on her heel, the same leg she had braced against the second man now trailing with her momentum, so that it caught the third attacker hard across the ribs.

The man gasped as the brutal kick flung him sideways against the nearby wagon, that rocked viciously under the impact. Clinging to the wagon for support, he tried to right himself, but before he could do so, Callisto was on him, her sword swinging high and in a tight controlled arc that cleanly slashed his throat. The man's hands shot up to his neck in surprise, his fingers soaking red in less than a second as he sank to his knees, and with a final pained gurgle, he tumbled face first into the dirt.

Callisto could feel her heart pounding hard in her chest, as she stared down at the three men lying dead all about her. As she looked at them, old memories of her time spent raiding and pillaging came flooding back to her and for the first time, she noted that the sight of the carnage all around her did not really give her any sense of satisfaction. Instead, all she could feel as she surveyed the corpses was that same empty hollowness she had been feeling so often recently. Even the coursing adrenaline high she could feel pumping through her did not give her the same sense of life it once had.

At her back there was a low rustling sound, and in an instant, she was spinning on the spot, her bloodied sword blade lashing around to face whatever new threat was approaching her.

"Woah, woah! Easy!" Athelis protested, one hand raised in a calming gesture as he emerged from the bushes, dragging the fourth Follower behind him by the arm. The man was struggling hard, but each time he tried to get away, Athelis twisted his wrist sharply, causing the Follower to howl in pain.

"Oh Athelis!" Callisto said, lifting her hand to her chest in mock delight. "You always bring me the nicest things!"

"Don't say I never do anything for you," he replied flatly, dragging the man round in front of him and forcing him to his knees before Callisto.

"He was trying to run," he said matter-of-factly. "I thought we should teach him a lesson in manners."

"And what lesson would that be exactly?" Callisto asked, leering at the man with a broad shark like grin.

"That you should always say goodbye to your hosts before you try and leave a party," Athelis said stepping around the prisoner to stand beside Callisto, his own smile matching hers.

"I don't care what you do to me!" The man snapped at them, his lips coated in spittle as his eyes blazed defiance at them. He was cradling the wrist Athelis had been dragging him by, and Callisto could already tell by the way he was holding it that Athelis must have broken it to keep him under control. "I'll never betray my Lord! I'll never tell you anything!"

"Well that makes things much simpler then doesn't it," Callisto said, her foot lashing out to catch the man in the chest and knock him flat on his back. He gasped as she kicked him, the wind rushing out of him as he slammed back onto the ground.

"You see," she continued, stepping around to his side, to loom dangerously above his broken wrist. "I don't need you to tell me anything."

She grinned sadistically as she placed her boot on the broken joint and twisted it, slowly and heavily.

The man did his best not to cry out, gritting his teeth as sweat beaded on his forehead, but even then he still failed, and his jaw cracked open in an ear piercing screech of agony.

Releasing the pressure on his wrist, Callisto squatted next to him, her long fingers reaching out to catch his chin in an almost tender caress.

"However," she said, turning his tear streaked face to hers, and fixing him with a steady, malevolent gaze, "You are going to _show_ me everything."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here we are with the last update before the I go dark to write the ending. This is the longest chapter so far, and I'm very pleased with it. I hope you all enjoy it too.

It will be probably be little while before I update again, because I will be writing the last two chapters and the epilogue before I publish them to the site. This will allow everyone to get the ending in one go, instead of having to try and keep up with it in dribs and drabs over a couple of weeks.

As always, thanks for following this long and occasionally rambling series. Have fun reading...


	19. Chapter 18: All Greeks go to Elysium

**Chapter Eighteen: All Greeks Go To Elysium**

Helot Town was about as deserted as Ithius had thought it would be. The streets were eerily quiet for the time of day, and he could feel eyes upon him from the upper storeys of some of the buildings as he and his horse trotted quietly down the empty thoroughfares and passageways between buildings.

The quiet did not really surprise him. Most of the Helot population had headed out of the Outer City that morning, and even more had come in from the country side, all to gather together at the mustering fields.

Few, if any, would be returning.

Seeing the streets now so empty, where normally they would have been alive and bustling with people, made the dull sense of numbness in his gut stir uncomfortably. He still could not quite wrap his head around what it was that had taken place today. The death and chaos caused by Demosthenes' sudden about face haunted his thoughts every instant, and he looked sadly from house to house as he rode past them. So many houses; so many homes, each one, once so full of sound and colour, and now the majority would never see such life again.

Not for the first time as he rode through the city, he found himself wondering just how many of his people had managed to escape Demosthenes' purge. It was a grim train of thought to be trapped upon. Surely they could not all be dead.

Could they?

He gripped the reins of his horse tightly as they rounded a street corner and the first real obstacle he had faced since escaping the mustering fields, appeared before him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the the Inner City Gates, looming as huge and stark as they always did.

Given the choice, Ithius would have avoided the Inner City entirely. Going there after what had just happened felt somewhat akin to sticking your head back into the lions mouth, after having just escaped it once already. He had to find Callisto though. If she had been telling the truth earlier that morning, then she and that strange little Athenian had been close to finding the tomb of Lycurgus. If that were the case, maybe he still had the chance to undo what he had done, or at the very least offset it somewhat. If he could somehow find her, convince her to help him, then maybe he could still help Leonidas in some way; maybe even salvage some small degree of good from this terrible mess in which he now found himself. In the end he might be all too late to save his people, but he could, at the very least, still try and save his friend.

As it turned out, he need not have worried about the city gates. As his horse drew nearer to them, he found himself faintly surprised to be faced with guards all wearing the familiar red crested helms and cloaks of Leonidas. It would make sense that while Leonidas had taken a few of his best soldiers to Thermopylae with him, the large majority had remained within the city, so he supposed it was hardly surprising to find them still conducting their duties and guarding the gates. Why only them, though? Why were none of Demosthenes' men present? The answer was all too simple really.

The mustering fields.

As he approached the gates, one of the men on station stepped up, greeting him with a courteous nod.

"Ithius," he said, looking the former Helot up and down steadily. "What business do you have in the Inner City today?"

"I'm looking to speak with someone," Ithius replied, trying to play his cards close to his chest. After this morning's events, and reading Leonidas' letter, he was no longer certain just how trustworthy anyone in this city truly was.

"Mind if I ask who?" The Spartan replied.

Ithius sighed, unable to think of a convincing lie quick enough.

"She's tall," he began. "slim, blonde, and could curdle fresh milk with that tongue of hers."

The Spartan nodded sagely.

"I see," he said. "And this woman wouldn't by any chance be wanted by King Demosthenes and the Ephors for the murder of a certain Persian Ambassador now would she?"

Ithius only shrugged.

"I believe she might be," he said, and the Spartan gave another serious nod.

"You understand that officially, we're supposed to arrest this woman on sight and inform King Demosthenes and his men should we have any idea of her current whereabouts," he said. "Also, before he departed for the mustering fields this morning, King Demosthenes also left instructions that no Helots were to be permitted entrance into the Inner City, on grounds of security following yesterday's riots..."

Ithius gave a weary nod. It looked like Demosthenes was still one step ahead of him.

"...however," the soldier announced, flashing Ithius a sly grin as he did so, "unofficially, King Leonidas left instructions that stated quite the opposite before he left."

With that, the soldier span to face the others on guard duty with him.

"Open the gates!" He commanded loudly, and the rest of the men nodded obligingly. As the gates began to creak open, the soldier turned back to Ithius and gave him a respectful nod. Ithius just sat his horse, completely dumbfounded.

"But... why?" He managed eventually.

The soldier only shrugged.

"We all swore an oath to obey King Leonidas," he said simply. "That oath binds us until the day we die, or he orders otherwise. His last orders to us as he passed through this gate were that if either yourself or Callisto were to attempt to pass, that we were to allow it. At present those orders still stand."

From behind the soldier, there came a muffled thudding sound as the gates were finally flung wide. Ithius did not pass up the opportunity, urging his horse forward with a light touch from his heels. The recalcitrant animal tossed its head and snorted in protest, but obeyed nevertheless.

"There is one thing you should know before you continue though," the soldier said as Ithius began to ride past him.

"Yes?" Ithius said, doing his best not to sound impatient. While he was undeniably grateful for the man's help, idle chit chat was something he presently did not have time for.

"If it really is Callisto you're looking for, you won't find her in the Inner City. She already passed through this way a couple of hours ago, along with that mercenary friend of hers." The man's tone sounded stark in its disapproval.

"Do you have any idea where they were headed?" Ithius asked.

The soldier shook his head.

"We never asked," he replied.

Ithius cursed mentally. If she had uncovered the location of the tomb, it was likely she would already be there by now, but without knowing where 'there' was, he was at a loss as to what to do next. He sat his horse in silence for a moment, his fingers clenched tightly around the reins as he tried to think of where she could be, or how he could find her. Suddenly the answer came to him in a flash.

"You said the mercenary was with her?" He asked. The soldier nodded.

"Was there anyone else? A short, round man by any chance?"

"You mean the Athenian?" the soldier replied.

Ithius nodded, to which the soldier shook his head again.

"It was just the two of them."

"So he is still in the city?"

"To the best of my knowledge. He was our King's guest, so you'll likely find him back at the Palace."

Ithius dipped his head in thanks.

"You have been most helpful," he said.

The soldier only shrugged.

"Just following orders," he said, and Ithius felt a chill run down his spine. Was that what had happened this morning? Had Demosthenes men slaughtered his people for so simple a reason as they were ordered to? It was a truly unsettling thought.

"My thanks anyway," he said, trying to put those thoughts behind him. Not wasting anymore time, he turned and brought his horse up to a quick canter as he rode off into the Inner City. He was already pushing his luck dawdling by the gates. Demosthenes and his men would no doubt be returning to the city soon, and when they did, getting back out again might not be so easy as getting in had been. He wanted to be long gone before that happened.

The ride up to Leonidas' palace was as uneventful as his journey through Helot Town, although noticeably less quiet. The streets were alive with the usual activity one could expect on a balmy mid afternoon such as this, but even here, a strange glumness seemed to have settled over the people. As he rode, brief snippets and fragments of conversation drifted by him. The people were uneasy. The Ephors' attempted surrender to the Persians did not sit well with them, and Leonidas' bravery was already being spoken of in hushed reverence.

Ithius frowned as he listened to them. From the way some of them were speaking, it sounded like the Helots were not the only potential revolution the Ephors should have been worrying about.

Leonidas' palace was quiet when he arrived, the courtyard sparsely inhabited save a few soldiers scattered about here and there. Ithius did not even bother to tether his horse. Already the sun was well past its zenith and would soon begin its descent toward the horizon. Time was of the essence now, and with each moment he tarried, he had less and less of it to spare.

Quickly, but doing his best to appear unhurried so as to avoid arousing any real notice, he crossed to the palace doors and stepped through them, moving at the same brisk pace down through the halls until he popped out into the banquet hall. He had planned to try and find a servant here; maybe even a Helot who had not attended the mustering fields that morning to guide him to where the little Athenian – Monocles he believed his name was – was currently residing. Much to his surprise, it was Monocles himself that he came across.

The small rotund man was standing over a table covered in ancient scrolls and tomes, his travelling pack on the bench beside him, his shoulders slumped sadly as he held two books in either hand, apparently trying to decide between them, his normally florid face now wearing a defeated hang dog expression. Ithius watched as the man gave a long, deep sigh of resignation and let both books fall back to the table with resounding thuds.

"What's the point?" Ithius heard him mutter to himself. "The chance to not just observe history, but to be a part of it... and in the end you shirk from it. What a fool you are Monocles. No one remembers those who write history, only those who forge it, and that task lies with stronger, better individuals than you it would seem."

Ithius gave a light cough, wondering how much, or even if, the little man was aware of his presence.

Monocles glanced up and gave an embarrassed blush as he realised, apparently for the first time, that he was not alone.

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" Ithius asked.

Monocles glanced at the books around him and gave another weary sigh.

"Only my own despondence," he replied, snatching one of the books he had been holding a moment ago back up without so much as glancing at it and stuffing it into his bags.

"Something wrong?" Ithius asked, not really knowing how to broach the subject he wished to speak with the other man about.

"Only if you classify my profound sense of worthlessness in these most desperate and trying times as being 'something wrong'." Monocles replied archly. He paused for a moment, as if trying to calm himself, then took a deep breath. "But still, it would appear you have come looking for me, or else you would have moved on through by now. That is, after all, what everyone else has been doing."

He folded his arms across his chest in a gesture Ithius thought was supposed to make him look stern and authoritative, but instead succeeded only in making him look petulant.

"Ithius wasn't it?" he continued, looking Ithius up and down as he did so. "I heard about your dealings with the Ephors. How you betrayed King Leonidas' confidence in you. A most disappointing outcome if I do say so myself."

His eyes flickered downward to the table, scanning back and forth across the rows of books and papyrus again.

"Still, who am I to pass judgement? I guess that, in the end, we were both disappointments to those who were relying on us."

"More than you might think," Ithius nodded, the mustering fields still fresh in his mind. He gave a brief sniff, as he tried to center himself.

"I'm looking for Callisto," he started again and Monocles narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously.

"She's not here," he said, a little too abruptly. Ithius nodded, feeling the tension in his chest growing. The sands were running through the hour glass faster than he would like. He did not have the time to be standing here commiserating over past woes; not if he wanted to even stand a chance at correcting some of them.

"I've already been told as much," he said, doing his best to set Monocles at ease, despite his growing frustration. "Don't worry, you have nothing to fear from me. I just need to know where she went."

Monocles gave him a quizzical look at that, but it only lasted a moment before he was distracted by someone approaching Ithius from behind.

"Ah!" the little man announced. "There you are! Where have you been? I've been awaiting your return for the last hour. These works need transporting back to the city archive."

"My apologies, Master Monocles, but I was otherwise occupied."

Ithius turned to face the speaker, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he caught sight of the man.

He was clad in the outfit of a palace servant, the kind Ithius himself had often worn during his time living in the palace as Leonidas' personal attendant. This man he did not recognise though. He was average in every respect, possessed of unassuming features and an indistinct voice. Nevertheless, he must have been one of Leonidas' household Helots, a general palace jack of all trades. It would appear he had been assigned to Monocles during his tenure here.

"Is there something wrong?" the man asked as he moved to busy himself clearing the papyrus and organising the books into neat piles.

"I...uh...I just thought that the Helots had all..."

A sudden deep sense of dread hit him hard in the pit of his stomach. What if not all the Helots had gone to the mustering fields? What if some had remained in the city? Demosthenes was returning even as they spoke. His soldiers would doubtless track down those few who remained, and deal with them as swiftly and brutally as they had done with the others that very morning.

Without thinking he leaned over and seized the other man roughly by his forearm as he reached for a particularly heavy tome.

"You have to leave," he said harshly. "Right now; you, and any others remaining here close to you. Demosthenes is on his way, and when he returns, there will be no safe haven for you or any of us!"

The servant just stared back at him blankly.

"I don't understand," he said, his voice split by confusion. "Why would King Demosthene wish to harm me?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand either," Monocles said. "What reason would King Demosthenes have to harm his own people?"

"We are not _his_ people!" Ithius snapped harshly in a tone that made Monocles wince. "You don't order soldiers against your own people! You don't instruct them to kill ever last man woman and child if they are your countrymen!"

"But why would you think he would do such a thing?" Monocles asked, a touch more gently this time.

"Because he already has done!" Ithius barked in reply. "This morning! At the mustering fields! He abused a loop hole in Spartan law, and ordered his troops to execute all the Helots present there. I barely escaped with my life!"

Monocles looked taken aback for a moment, then, slowly a strange look of mounting fear began to creep across his face, as if he were beginning to realise some great and terrible that no one else were aware of.

Beside Ithius, the Helot servant spoke up, his own voice quavering uncertainly.

"I still do not understand," he said. "If you speak the truth, why would King Demosthenes do such a terrible thing? Is this something to do with the Oracle of Ares? Does King Demosthenes think a Helot is responsible for her murder? Is he punishing us for some reason?"

Ithius rounded on the man with a fearsome sharpness that made him flinch.

"Miranda's dead?" he said, feeling his heart seize inside his chest. The servant nodded and swallowed nervously.

"She was found earlier today. They say the blow that struck her down was at least quick..."

Ithius barely heard the rest. He felt bile rising in his throat, and a heavy sickness deep in his stomach. Miranda was a friend from his childhood, and despite having had very little to do with her in recent years, he still had fond memories of her. She had been a clever, vivacious young woman. A bit of a flirt at times, but ultimately, only ever with eyes for Leonidas. At one point the two of them were even to have been married, but the discovery of her oracular gifts had quickly put paid to that particular plan. Now she was gone, like all the rest, so many friends lost to him in the space of a day, and how much of it was his own fault?

He could feel his jaw tightening as his teeth ground hard against one another, the sound of blood pounding loudly inside his head.

"You should leave," he said, his voice thick, his words heavy. "It's not safe here."

"But I..." the servant began.

"ARE YOU DENSE MAN!" Ithius bellowed at him with such ferocity that the servant recoiled away from him. "Demosthenes is coming for all of us with a Spartan army at his back! Run! Now, and take those you love with you. Travel as fast and far from here as your legs will carry you!"

The Helot paled visibly, but managed a final curt nod before turning and fleeing from the banquet hall.

"Um... excuse me," Monocles said, raising a single chubby finger as Ithius fixed him with a baleful gaze.

"What?" he said.

"I realise this may not be quite the appropriate time, you having just received such terrible, dire news, but I feel it incumbent upon me, and possibly of the utmost importance to ask, who is Miranda?"

Ithius suddenly felt his shoulders sag as he thought of her, the rage draining out of him as quickly as it had come.

"She is..." he paused and swallowed. "...was, the Oracle of Ares."

"And she was murdered last night," Monocles said flatly. It was not a question but Ithius nodded anyway.

"It would seem so," he said.

"This is bad," Monocles said, clutching his hands tightly together, one finger tapping nervously at the other hand as he did so. Ithius let out a frustrated laugh.

"My people dying all around me, my friends being murdered or marching off to almost certain death, and all because of me, and the most you can say is that 'this is bad'?"

Monocles shook his head.

"No, no, no, please do not misunderstand me. I did not mean to make light of these circumstances. As a matter of fact, I believe that their ramifications may be even more terrible than the events themselves."

Ithius scowled at the man angrily.

"What ramifications?" he said. "What are you talking about? I came here to try and get your help in finding Callisto, not to play some game of cryptic twenty questions."

Monocles did not appear to have heard him. Instead, he had turned his attention back to the table, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth over the books as if he were searching for something.

"And you were correct in thinking she could help!" the little man continued, but only half addressing Ithius.

"She saw all of this coming," he muttered under his breath. "More than any of us thought possible it would seem. Just how could she know so much? Pah! No matter, this is the final piece of the puzzle. The Helots, Leonidas and his Spartans, an Oracle, the Persians... it all fits... enemies among us that we never saw, never anticipated, and now they have what they want! She was more correct than even she could know! A war greater than any the world has ever seen, but something's still not right... something about it doesn't work. There's a flaw in this plan I can feel it... if indeed it is the plan we think it is."

Ithius watched Monocles with a confused frown on his face. What was he babbling about? He had had his suspicions that something was amiss in Sparta. He had even voiced them to Callisto, but he had never thought it would stretch as far as this.

"Ah ha!" Monocles announced triumphantly, interrupting Ithius' thoughts as he reached over to hand a book to him, its pages open at the centre. Ithius took it from him with a curious curious look as he glanced down at the pages. A familiar looking sickle symbol was staring back at him.

"I've seen this before," he said. "This is the symbol the Followers use."

Monocles nodded gravely.

"It's the symbol of Cronus," he said simply, his eyes never leaving Ithius, as if he were waiting to judge the other man's reaction. Ithius simply shrugged.

"Ooookay then," he said, "So the Followers worship a dead Titan. What does that have to do with anything."

Monocles continued to watch him steadily.

"How much did Callisto tell you about them?" he asked cautiously.

"Only that she was suspicious of them," Ithius replied with a shrug. "She said she thought they might be involved in the murder of the Persian ambassador."

He looked back down to the symbol again.

"I still don't understand," he said. "What does any of this have to do with what's going on in the city? Where's Callisto? I don't have..."

Monocles raised a hand, cutting him off mid sentence.

"...'time for this'. Yes I know. None of us do really, but, please, just humour me."

He pointed to the book in Ithius' hand.

"Callisto was right about the Followers you see. They are the ones behind everything. I don't know what strings they have been pulling, but we have been dancing at the ends of them like puppets nevertheless. Cronus is not so securely locked away as the gods would have us all believe! He is reaching out into the world from beyond the grave, and the Followers are his will made flesh. He seeks to be free Ithius! Free from his prison and free to wreak terrible vengeance on the children who betrayed him so very long ago!"

Ithius was beginning to grow impatient. All this nonsense about Titans and conspiracies, and all the while, his people, the Helots, were being hunted and killed. With an irritated snarl he slammed the book down hard on the table, causing Monocles to start in surprise.

"I don't care about gods and monsters!" he snapped. "People are dying Monocles! My people! And the only way I can think of to stop it is to find Callisto and help her save Leonidas! If you can't help me do that, then I'll find someone else who can!"

"But, please just listen," Monocles protested. "I _am_ trying to help you! It's all connected you see! The purging of the Helots, the death of the Oracle; it's all because of them!"

"So you say," Ithius shot back, "but why!? What good does it do them? Why would Cronus care what happened to the Helots?"

"He doesn't care what happens to the Helots, don't you see?" Monocles said, his finger pressing hard against the book Ithius had thrown down. "He only cares that they die!"

"You're not making sense!" Ithius said. "Why do my people have to die?"

"Because of the barrier between worlds!" was Monocles' reply. When Ithius' only response was a blank stare he gave a sigh of resignation.

"I'm going to have to start at the beginning aren't I?" he said.

Ithius gave a curt nod and glanced back over his shoulder toward the doors. Demosthenes' men would be nearing the city by now.

"I think you better had," he said. "And be quick about it."

"Very well," Monocles said, taking a deep breath and blowing out his cheeks as he tried to think of what to say next.

"Where is Cronus trapped?" he said eventually.

"In Tartarus, down in the Underworld" Ithius said. "Every Greek child is told the story."

"Correct," Monocles nodded. "And where is the Underworld."

Ithius rolled his eyes in exasperation. Was Monocles trying to be patronising, or was it just his natural manner to talk down to those around him. Not for the first time since the conversation had begun, he found himself wondering how Callisto had kept from stabbing the man.

"It's the _Under_world," he said. "It's underground, beneath our feet. Everyone knows that."

"Then everyone is wrong!" Monocles crowed triumphantly. "If it were that simple, if the only thing separating them from us was layers of rock, the dead would be climbing back out into the world of the living every other day, and Cronus would have long since freed himself to march against the Olympians."

Ithius groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face in pure frustration.

"Where. Is. It. Then?" he said, enunciating each word as he tried to hold his temper.

"Somewhere outside our immediate reality," Monocles replied, as simply as if what he had just said made all the sense in the world.

When Ihtius just frowned impatiently at him, he sighed and continued on.

"There are other spaces outside the physical world we inhabit, you see," he said, gesturing broadly to the chamber around them. "Our world is only one of many planes of reality, or at least that's the way the theory goes. There are countless more that we cannot see, feel, hear or touch. They exist all around us and apart from us at the same time. The palaces of the gods atop Mt Olympus are one such space. The Underworld another."

Ithius narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Despite the pressure of time, Monocles' words were beginning to intrigue him.

"Go on," he said simply.

Monocles nodded and motioned to the books in front of him.

"There are various texts, treatises and dissertations among these works, that outline the nature of these worlds and how they interact. Philosophical works mainly. Not really my field mind. Rather woolly, full of unprovable theories, and a lack of hard empirical data, but thought provoking nevertheless..."

Ithius folded his arms and regarded the other man steadily. Monocles cleared his throat in an embarrassed fashion and continued on.

"...anyway, while much of what they say is pure speculation at best, and there are a great many dissenting opinions, one notion that seems quite common is that all of these various planes of reality are separated by barriers; natural boundaries that serve to maintain the distinction between realities and the spaces in between."

He paused for a moment to catch his breath before continuing.

"The barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead is a permeable one. The souls of the dead can pass through it on their journey to the other side. In doing so, they place stress on the barrier, though. Normally it's strong enough to withstand this pressure. However, if it were already damaged, and enough pressure was placed upon it..."

"...then it would collapse," Ithius said, finally beginning to see the point at which Monocles had been driving this whole time.

Monocles nodded.

"Exactly!" he said. "Callisto already knew this. She said that Cronus was trying to collapse the barrier between this world and the Underworld; that, by triggering a conflict between Sparta and the Persians, he would start a war that would consume all of Greece. The death toll would be enormous on both sides, and the barrier would tremble under the strain."

A dreadful sense of realisation began to settle over Ithius as he listened to the other man speak.

"And you think my people were the first blow don't you?" he said.

Monocles nodded.

"What other purpose would it serve?"

"But that would mean..." Ithius began, his mind turning rapidly as he tried to keep everything Monocles was telling him in perspective. "...That would mean that Demosthenes is..."

"...A Follower?" Monocles said, and gave a shrug. "Perhaps, but who knows for certain? He may only be a pawn in all of this, the same as the rest of us."

"And Miranda?" Ithius asked, feeling a lump form in his throat as he thought of her. "How would her death figure into it? She's only one person after all."

"It's not always a matter of quantity," Monocles replied. "Sometimes, the quality is a consideration too. The greater the soul, the more strain placed on the barrier. Great men and women would cause strain, and Oracles are gifted with a direct line of communion with the gods. That alone would doubtless cause greater strain upon their death than the average individual."

Ithius nodded in understanding. So far it all made a grim kind of sense to him. The worst kind of sense really. There was however, a single nagging detail.

"What about the Persians?" he said, and Monocles frowned at him.

"What about them?"

"Well, the way I've always understood it, is that Tartarus and Elysium is how we Greeks think of the afterlife. Do the Persians go there too?"

"Of course not," Monocles said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They have their own religious rites and practices, their own understanding of death and where it is they go after they..." suddenly his voice trailed off sharply as a look of unexpected and horrified realisation passed across his face.

"By the Gods!" he managed to gasp. "That's it! It has to be! THAT'S IT!"

Ithius looked at him curiously.

"What's is?" he said.

"The Persians!" Monocles said, snatching up his travelling pack and shouldering it hurriedly as he began to make for the door. As he passed by the book he had earlier handed to Ithius, he paused to grab it, then began walking again, thumbing through the pages rapidly as he went.

"They're a misdirect," he continued, only half paying attention to Ithius, "all smoke, mirrors, and sleight of hand. Cronus doesn't want a war with them! He never did!"

"But you said Callisto was right..."

"I know what I said," Monocles replied. "And she still is for the most part. The Followers _do_ want a war and all the death it will bring with it. They just don't want the war we thought they did!"

"Then who do they want a war with?" Ithius said, following after the shorter man, not really understanding what he was talking about.

"Think about it!" Monocles said, rounding on him, his eyes shining with a revelatory intensity that bordered on madness. "Only Greeks go to the Underworld. The Persians don't go there. They don't believe in it and as a result, they never pass through the barrier. Assuming that is the case, who do you want Greeks to fight if you want them to die by the score?"

Ithius stared at him blankly for a moment, and then the answer hit him like a powerful gut punch.

"Other Greeks," he said, his voice low and worried.

Monocles nodded.

"But how does starting a conflict with the Persians get Sparta to go to war with the rest of Greece?" Ithius said.

Monocles gave a deep frustrated sigh.

"I don't know," he said, turning on his heel and starting for the door again. "But Callisto must be warned. You must go to her, tell her what I've told you."

"But I don't know where she is..." Ithius replied. They were walking through the Palace's entry hall now, approaching the large double doors that led out into the courtyard.

"She is at the lands of a Helot called Soriacles..." Monocles began, and Ithius froze in his tracks.

"Did you just say Soriacles?" he said.

"Yes," Monocles answered, pausing to look back at him. "We came to the conclusion that the tomb of Lycurgus was located there. Callisto and that meat head assistant of mine went to find it."

He paused and glanced at Ithius.

"Did you know him?" he asked.

Ithius could only nod, then gave a deep swallow. Was this the reason Soriacles had died? Had the Followers murdered him, the same way they had done with Miranda? The more he began to uncover about them, the more he began to realise how much of the misfortune dogging Sparta's every move these last few weeks could be laid squarely at their door.

"What about you?" he said, doing his best to keep his voice even. "What are you going to do?"

Monocles looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave of you," he said. "Other cities must be warned of what is to come, my own Athens foremost among them."

Ithius only stared at him evenly.

"You're running." he said.

Monocles fell silent for a moment, then gave a slight, tight nod.

"I am," he said morosely. "I have a terrible suspicion that when King Demosthenes returns, this city is going to become a decidedly less hospitable place for the likes of me, perhaps even as dangerous as it has already become for you."He glanced at Ithius and gave and embarrassed shrug of his shoulders. "Did I not say I was a disappointment?"

Ithius said nothing. Instead he began walking again, his stride longer and more purposeful this time, carrying him past Monocles and out into the daylight beyond.

As he emerged into the courtyard, he could see the sun was well past its zenith and that it was now beginning to sink toward the horizon. Clouds had begun to move in, and the sun's long, dying rays were casting them in shades of bloody crimson.

He crossed quickly to his horse. It had moved only slightly from the spot where he had left it, and the animal snorted tiredly as he clambered astride it. Suddenly it's head flicked around to stare out past the palace walls as a distant, pealing blast from a horn announced Demosthenes' return to the city.

"You'd best get moving," he said, turning to look at Monocles, who had followed him into the courtyard. "Banking on Demosthenes' mercy is not something I would recommend."

With that, he turned and spurred his horse hard with his heels, driving it forward and out of the palace into the city beyond at a lurching gallop.

* * *

Monocles watched Ithius' horse disappear out of the palace, then glanced about him warily. The courtyard was all but deserted now. A lone soldier marched back and forth with an even, practiced gait across the breadth of the yard, and a couple more walked the ramparts that ran to either side of the palace gate, but other than them he was alone.

He did his best to suppress a shiver as he felt a deathly chill run down his spine. In truth he had been feeling less than safe ever since Leonidas and Callisto had left. A strange, tar like tension seemed to have settled over the city, and it was beginning to make Monocles uneasy.

A second horn blast, identical to the one only minutes before but much nearer this time, jolted him from his bleak thoughts. Quickly, he turned and began to make his way toward the stables that had been constructed in a corner of the courtyard. Surely there would be a horse of some quality there that he would be able to saddle and ride. He had always hated horses truth be told, but with the sudden very real fear of death snapping at his heels, he would be willing to chance riding one of the beasts if it would carry him away from here.

As he walked, he went back to thumbing through the book he was carrying in his right hand. It was an old tome, dedicated to the history of the Underworld and the nature of Hades' rule there. There was something he had read only yesterday morning that had caught his eye, but that at the time he had thought was inconsequential. Now though, it nagged at the back of his mind, the same way the Persians had done. If not for Ithius, he would never have put two and two together with the issue of the Persian afterlife. Now he had however, and he was beginning to wonder what else he might have missed.

If only he could remember what he had read and where he had read it... Had it been chapter one or the close of chapter three? Perhaps even chapter five? He could not remember for the life of him, and the more he thought about it, the more he began to doubt that he had even brought the correct book.

His thoughts were still drifting when he entered the stable. Standing as it did, in the shadow of the palace walls, little day light actually entered it, and now torches mounted in brackets at the entrance to each stall had been lit, all of them burning with a warm, homely light that immediately set Monocles' mind at ease.

Maybe it had just been spending hours rummaging through ancient texts in a big empty banquet hall that had set him so on edge. Reading about the Followers had not really helped either. There were dreadful things in those texts regarding the cult of Cronus; how it had once been a benevolent force in the world, but how its descent into cruelty and viciousness had mirrored the increasing cruelty and paranoia of their own Titan Lord. It made him shiver to think of it even now. Still, with the warmth of the flickering torchlight all about him, and the gentle snorts from the horses in their stalls, his nerves were finally beginning to calm.

Nevertheless, he did not have time to waste.

Crossing quickly to one side of the stable, he placed the book he was carrying upon a stacked hay bail, then turned to collect one of the spare saddles mounted upon a series of hooks along the wall. The horses in the stalls watched him placidly as he turned to best judge which of them would be the most fit for him to ride, passing down the row of stalls and eyeing each horse carefully as he went.

Some were feisty. Light on their feet, they would prance and toss their manes as he approached. One of the animals, a sizeable warhorse from the appearance of it, snorted and stamped its hooves heavily as Monocles drew closer, and he made sure to step wide as he passed by that stall.

Eventually he came to one with a fairly calm looking gelding standing inside. Cautiously, so as not to alarm the animal, he slid back the bolt on the gate and stepped inside. The horse gave a soft snort, but otherwise did nothing as he placed the saddle heavily across its back. He needed placid animals really. The spirited, zesty mares were too much for him to control, and that big warhorse would as soon bite his face off as look at him. No, this gelding would do just fine.

As he began to fasten the bridle around the animal's head, he began to think back to Callisto, and he felt a heavy sense of sadness stir deep in the pit of his stomach. She had called him a coward, and had been right to do so. It was not that he did not want to try and be heroic. He truly did wish he could be there beside them, uncovering real history, and helping to save King Leonidas, but every time he thought about the risks and the dangers involved, he felt his palms turn cold and clammy, and a creeping, queasy sense of fear would begin to gnaw at the back of his mind. He looked at the horse sadly, and it stared back at him in turn. It had large dark eyes that, dumb though they were, still managed to look accusatory.

"I know, I know," he said. "But what would you have me do? Ride out after Callisto and Ithius? And what help would I be even if I did? I'm no warrior. Just a fat little man with a passion for books."

The horse gave a soft whinny and Monocles chuckled to himself.

"So you agree with me then?" he asked. The horse whinnied again.

He reached out and began to tighten the last of the bridle straps. What an easy life the horse must have, just riding hither and thither, nothing more than a mount for other people. It had nothing to concern itself with really other than the will of whoever was riding it. Something about that thought stirred something else lose in the back of his mind, and he could feel that creeping sense of unease beginning to return again.

"How do you live like that?" he said. "What kind of a life is it you lead when all you do is carry out someone else's wishes? It's not really a life at all is it. You just become nothing. Hollow. Empty. A shell, a..."

Suddenly, the answer he had been trying to remember this whole time came to him in a flash; a single word burning bright across his memory.

"A vessel!" he breathed. By all the Gods on Olympus, there was more to all of this still.

Plans within plans.

Without thinking, he seized the last of the bridle straps and yanked it tight, causing a protesting snort from his horse. He had to get to Callisto. Maybe if he rode hard now, he would still be able to catch up to Ithius. Company on the road would be far safer than if he were to be riding alone, and...

He paused and smiled to himself. The sense of fear was gone. When the realisation had come to him, the path before him had suddenly been made as clear as a bright summer's day. There had been no room for doubt, no room for fear. This information was simply too important, too vital to go unheard. Callisto had to be told, and there was no one else left to do the telling but him.

He flexed his fingers, clasping them to the palms of his hands.

They came away bone dry.

His smile broadened, and he turned, walking back out into the stables to collect his book. As he stepped out onto the stable floor though, felt his back stiffen, and he froze in his tracks.

A second man had entered while he had been in the stalls, and was now standing with the book in his hand, leafing absently though its pages as if he had been waiting for Monocles.

"Ah!" the newcomer said, looking up to catch sight of Monocles for the first time. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you were actually in here or not. A very nice young Helot informed me that you were planning to leave, and so I thought I would come here in the hopes of catching you before you did."

The newcomer was dressed all in crimson robes, finely embroidered with that chillingly familiar sickle symbol stitched to the collar. He was an older man, and it took Monocles less than a second to recognise him as the Followers head priest, Pelion. He had met the man the night they had arrived in Sparta, but then he had had little awareness of the Followers or the god they worshipped.

That was quite the opposite now.

"This..." he began, his throat suddenly dry. Coughing uncomfortably, he cleared his throat and started again. "This is quite a surprise, friend Pelion. I must admit that I was not expecting to see you here."

Pelion cocked his head slightly, as if he were listening to some distant sound. Monocles strained his ears but could hear nothing.

"Was there a reason you should have been?" the old priest said, with a strange half smile.

"Um... not really no..." Monocles replied, not knowing what else to say. "...but it does beg the question, why it is that you wanted to see me?"

Pelion smiled, and gestured toward the pages before him.

"An interesting text this," he said, sidling neatly around Monocles' question. Holding up the book in one hand he tilted it, as if inspecting it for damage or other markings.

"Full of fallacy mind," he continued, "but interesting nevertheless. I must admit though, it does have the right of things in one or two instances."

He fixed Monocles with a level stare.

"I believe you already know the matters of which I speak,"

Monocles swallowed again, his throat suddenly completely parched. There was only one exit from the stables, and Pelion was positioned perfectly between them.

"I can assure you, I have no idea to what you are referring," he replied without conviction, his legs feeling as weak as if they were made of water.

Pelion's smile never left his face, but his eyes hardened in an instant.

"Oh come now, Monocles," he said, as if he were scolding a child. "You cannot really believe me so foolish as to accept such an obvious lie."

With almost casual disdain, he flipped the book open again and reached down into it. With a tearing sound that made Monocles' heart sink, he unceremoniously ripped out a handful of pages; the same pages that contained the information Monocles could only half remember no doubt. He could feel his heart sinking still further as Pelion crossed to one of the lit torches and held the pages up until they caught alight with a dry crackle. The flames began to devour them hungrily and Pelion turned to regard him coldly.

"You know who it is we worship don't you," Pelion said and Monocles nodded.

"He speaks to me now, you know," the old man continued. "My Lord I mean. Even now, he can hear your thoughts."

He cast the burning pages to one side, leaving them to turn to ash against the dry stone cobbles that covered the floor as he began to advance purposefully toward Monocles. Slowly, so as not to appear too alarmed, Monocles began to back away.

"He tells me that you fear him," Pelion continued, edging Monocles back against the stable's rear wall. "That you fear me."

Monocles felt his back meet the cold stone of the stable wall with a soft thump. There was no where else to go. Pelion had him trapped.

"Tell me," the old priest said, now only a single pace from him. "Is that true? Do you really fear me?"

Monocles swallowed hard again and nodded.

"I do," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you hate it don't you," Pelion said, taking another step closer. He was now less than an arm's length away. "You hate being afraid, hate the way it comes upon you unbidden in the night, and controls you whether you want it to or not. You hate the way it steals your pride from you, and unmans you in front of those whom you so desperately yearn to have respect you."

Monocles nodded again, unable to say anything. Pelion's face eased, his eyes no longer hard like glass, but now soft and pitying instead.

"My Lord can rid you of that fear you know," he said. "If you were only to let him in into your heart, if you were only to give him your allegiance, your loyalty, your absolute and utmost faith, he could take that fear and the pain it causes you, take it and use it to build a new world! A better world! A world where no one would have to be afraid ever again. You would like that wouldn't you? A world without fear, a world without pain..."

He let his voice trail off, his words hanging seductively on the air.

Monocles took a deep breath. There was only one answer he could think of.

"Your 'Lord', such as he is, could never give me that," he replied, surprising himself with how steady his voice was. "He is nothing more than a parasite, long dead and leaching off the pathetic whims of bitter, hate filled people like yourself, and all so that he can cobble together some semblance of life once more. Such a creature cannot create a new world. He can only set the old one to burn."

He shook his head firmly.

"No," he continued, his voice rising, his conviction steady and unwavering. "I deny you, old man. You and that creature you call Lord. Such a thing can never, and will never, defeat those who have the will to stand against it."

Pelion's soft, pitying expression vanished in an instant, and he spat angrily at Monocles' feet.

"And who has such a will?" he snapped viciously. "You? That pitiful assistant of yours, Athelis? Maybe Ithius then? The self styled leader of a murdered people? You are, all of you, pathetic! What hope could you have to stand against the might of the Great Cronus! King of the Titans and Lord of the Harvest!"

"There is still Callisto," Monocles replied, stepping forward away from the wall, standing with his back firm and his legs strong.

His hands were still dry.

"Callisto!" Pelion snorted. "HAH! She is the most hate-filled and malformed of any of you! If you think that, in the end, she will avail you, you are sorely mistaken. Her spirit is twisted her will broken! My Lord makes plans within plans, and she lies at the heart of them all."

"Nevertheless," Monocles replied evenly, "she will be the one who, to use a vulgar and colloquial expression, kicks your proverbial behind."

Pelion gave a furious snarl, and before Monocles could react, a dagger had appeared out of the the old priest's robes and was clutched tightly between his fingers. It flashed grimly in the torchlight and Monocles felt the breath rush out of him as the blade caught him in the gut.

"Such defiance," Pelion hissed in his ear as Monocles stumbled back heavily against the wall, his hands pressing to the wound in his belly. Strangely, he could not feel any pain, but there was an odd spreading warmth beneath his fingers.

"Such colourful invective." With a grunt, Pelion pulled the blade free and lifted it so that Monocles could see his own blood shining along its length. "You have read much and discovered even more. Were you in anyway truly formidable, I might have even considered you a true threat."

He glanced at the glistening wetness marking the steel, and smiled cruelly. Already the world seemed to be greying at the edges, and Monocles could feel his mind drifting. Despite all his senses crying out to him to let go, to succumb to sweet bliss of death, he clung on grimly, his hands still pressed tightly to his stomach.

"In the grand scheme of my Lord's plans, though, you are ultimately nothing more than a footnote," Pelion continued, "a bump upon the road that has already been passed by. Your death will be a worthless one, quiet and unremembered, much as your life was."

Monocles' strength was failing now. With a wheezing groan, he collapsed to his knees, a single blood soaked hand taking his weight as his back sagged, and he coughed heavily. A thick coppery taste stained the inside of his mouth, and with that, he knew he was dying.

"You..." he managed between pained gasps, "...are worth... even less... than I."

Slowly he reached out toward Pelion's robes, his hand wavering weakly in the air as he tried to claw at his killer's hem.

Pelion gave a disgusted snort and stepped back so that he was well beyond Monocles' reach.

"Take what you have learned with you to the grave Monocles," he hissed and turned on his heel, to stalk off out of the stable. "May it serve you better in the next life than it did in this one."

Monocles could barely make him out as he departed. His vision was failing now, colour bleeding out of the world as his life bled out of him. He could feel it deep inside him now. A growing warmth easing out from the wound in his belly, numbing the pain and everything else with it. With a grunt, he collapsed forward, his face smacking heavily against the hard stone floor. Normally such a blow would have set his head reeling, but now it barely even registered. All he wanted was to sleep, to let go and surrender to that sweet warmth flowing through him. Slowly his eyes began to drift shut...

No!

His eyes flew open suddenly. Not yet. He could not go yet! There was still one more thing he had to do! One last act of defiance that would finally prove his worth. With painful, agonising effort, he braced his arms to either side of him and managed to heave himself up onto all fours, thick blood stains marking the cobbles that had been beneath him.

The book! It was all that mattered now. He had to reach it! He had to!

Slowly, but determinedly, inch by painful inch, he began to crawl across the stable floor.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Entombed

**Chapter Nineteen: Entombed**

The tunnel was silent save for the sound of shuffling feet and the occasional pained whimper as Callisto stepped quietly behind Athelis and their Follower prisoner. They had been descending down the old mine shaft for what seemed like forever, although in truth, it could not have been for more than ten or fifteen minutes. The going was slow, mainly thanks to the narrowness of the passage and the recalcitrance of their prisoner. He would occasionally dig in his heels to mouth objections or to otherwise hiss obscenities at them. His only response was to receive light but meaningful prods from the end of Athelis' dagger.

That soon got him moving again.

It was probably something to do with having spent a great deal of time trapped in not just underground caves, but also beneath piles of boulders, encased in hardened magma, and even in Tartarus itself, that, over the years, Callisto had grown to dislike dark enclosed spaces, and now, being gods knew how many metres underground in a narrow tunnel, pretty much qualified as such. The deeper they went, the more she could feel her tension levels rising. She had never realised before just how much the absence of sunlight and fresh air bothered her, but this deep down below the surface of the earth with no immediate way out, she was suddenly keenly aware of how close the walls were and how low the ceiling had become.

As they rounded a slight bend in the tunnel, she felt her breath catch when she saw that up ahead, the rough hewn ceiling above them dipped so low, she would need to squat to pass beneath it. She paused for a moment, placing a hand against the wall and taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"Are you alright?" she heard Athelis ask, though his voice sounded strangely distant to her.

"I'm fine," she replied, a little too sharply, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I was just asking," he said.

"In the future, don't," she shot back.

Nearby, she heard their prisoner let out a low, dry chuckle of amusement.

"What's the matter?" he jeered nastily at Athelis. "Your pet psycho here is scared of the dark?"

Callisto gritted her teeth and took a threatening step toward him, her momentary shortness of breath already passing as she felt her irritation with the man stirring inside her.

"For someone who was begging for mercy less than a half hour ago, you certainly seem to have a lip on you," she snarled, remembering the way he had moaned and whimpered when she had stood on his broken wrist. "Keep talking like that, and I'll take great pleasure in ripping it off."

The man's face turning a fear filled pale white was clear, even in the dim torchlight, and Athelis flashed him a devilish smirk.

"Guess that answer's your question huh?" he said. The Follower visibly gulped, causing Athelis to chuckle darkly and nudge him with the tip of his dagger again.

"Get moving," he said, forcing the other man to duck low under the roof. Callisto watched from behind as the two of them vanished through the narrow gap, rolling the pads of her fingers against one another instinctively as they went. For a moment she was alone, the only sound her own breathing and the occasional drip of moisture from further back down the tunnel.

"You coming?" she heard Athelis call back through the gap to her, and Callisto nodded, even though no one else was present to see the gesture.

"On my way," she replied, stepping forward and ducking quickly through the gap as she had seen him do.

On the other side, she found herself standing in a tunnel a little wider than the one before. Ahead the path forked in two, both tunnels curving out in opposite directions to one another and Callisto caught Athelis watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Which way, do you think?" he asked.

Callisto shrugged, and crossed to their prisoner's side. He held his broken wrist gingerly with his other hand.

"Why don't you tell us deary?" she asked with a too wide smile, reaching out to stroke gently at his damaged limb as she did so. The Follower tried to shy back away from her, but she clenched her fingers tightly around his forearm, refusing to let go even as the man gritted his teeth in pain.

"After all," she continued, her voice still all sweet innocence, but her eyes as hard as cold steel, "it is why we invited you on this little adventure."

The Follower gave an involuntary shudder and looked away, unable to meet her baleful stare.

"To the left," he muttered grudgingly.

Callisto reached out and gave him an affectionate pat on the head.

"Good boy," she said with a satisfied smile, "Keep this up and I may even offer you a treat later."

She stepped to one side as Athelis gave the man another of his chivying prods.

The prisoner stumbled slightly on the uneven stone floor, and shot Athelis a hate filled glare. Athelis, for his part, remained nonplussed.

"After you," he said, gesturing toward the tunnel with mocking politeness.

The rest of their journey down through the mining tunnels went much the same way. Each time they came to a point where the tunnel would branch or split, there would be a brief pause as they determined which direction to go, their prisoner having to be 'encouraged' to lead them on each time. As time wore on, Callisto began to feel her patience being tested, and with each time they were forced to stop, she could feel the anger building inside her. Time was running out, if indeed it had not already done so, and the thought of it lit a fire of determination in her that she had not felt in a long time.

Eventually though, they turned a corner, and Callisto found herself standing just behind the other two men, and staring along its length toward a ragged hole that had been smashed out of an otherwise natural ending to the tunnel. A number of torches surrounded the entrance, their light immediately drawing the party member's eyes to it. Slowly and cautiously, Athelis began to creep forward, his eyes never leaving the opening as he moved down the length of the tunnel, both his notched dagger and sword drawn and held tightly at his sides.

"Is this it do you think?" he said, casting a glance back over his shoulder toward Callisto. She did not answer him directly, but instead turned her hard stare on the Follower who stood off to one side, still cradling his broken wrist.

"Well?" she demanded.

The man said nothing, only nodding as if he were a child caught stealing apples from an orchard. Callisto looked back to Athelis.

"I guess that's a 'yes' then," she said, drawing her own sword, and pointing at the man.

"Now," she said dangerously, "it's time for you to be good little host and give us the guided tour,"

The man watched her sword blade fearfully for a moment before giving another tight nod and setting off down the tunnel after Athelis.

The tunnel was worryingly close to either side of them, barely wide enough to fit two men abreast through it, and Athelis had to press his back against one wall to let the man pass him, before turning and following close behind him. Callisto flexed her fingers around her sword hilt and set off after them both, her eyes flickering across the pooled shadows to either side of her.

Just ahead of her, both their prisoner then Athelis clambered through the opening in the wall, and Callisto was about to follow suit, pausing briefly to cast a final backward glance down the tunnel at her back.

Suddenly, she froze, one hand raised to brace against the stone wall, while her eyes fixed on a small alcove off to one side of the tunnel. The shadows were at their thickest there and for a brief instant, she thought she had seen them flicker and shift, the same way they had done so at the temple of Artemis before that strange figure going by the name of Mortius had attacked them?

"Come out, come out wherever you are," she whispered softly into the empty air, but nothing moved in response. Even the shadows seemed to be still and waiting.

"Callisto!" Athelis' voice drifted out of the opening to her.

"What is it?" she asked, still not taking her eyes off the alcove.

"You really need to see this!" Athelis replied, his tone one of excitement now.

Callisto frowned at the alcove one last time, then turned away, and ducked through the opening to join the others beyond.

What awaited her was both not quite unexpected, but still more than she had bargained for.

She was standing in a huge hollowed out cavern, one that even she could tell was only half natural. It had clearly been carved out of the solid stone for the most part. Around the walls, a number of torches had been set up to light the place, casting it all in warm orange glow. Two long rows of Grecian pillars framed either side of a central path that lead up a small flight of stairs to a raised platform, and on that platform was some kind of altar or sarcophagus. Between each of the pillars, statues had been erected on tall marble plinths, each one clearly depicting a man, slightly larger than natural scale, with spear outstretched and a shield across one forearm. A curious detail was that while the spear hafts were carved of a piece with the rest of the statue, the bronze tips and each statues shield were very much the real thing. Despite the archaic style of dress each statue depicted, Callisto could tell that they were intended to display Spartan Hoplites; silent, heroic guardians of this ancient place.

"Well," Athelis grinned next to her. "What do you think?"

Callisto flashed him an equally satisfied smile, feeling her spirits raised just by the sight of the chamber laid out before them.

"The word 'jackpot' springs to mind," she said, moving off between the pillars. Athelis gave their prisoner a rough shove so that he would fall into step with them and then set off after her.

"If this is the place then, shouldn't we be heading back?" he said, his voice echoing off the hard stone walls all about them. "We have the proof we need right?"

Callisto shook her head.

"Not just yet," she replied. "We need to make absolutely sure this is Lycurgus' tomb. I'm not leaving anything to chance."

She stalked determinedly across the chamber, doing her best to block out a familiar wafting sulfuric smell that hung thick and heavy in the air.

"Not this time, anyway," she muttered quietly to herself, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard that same mocking laughter that seemed to have taunted her so much recently.

As she reached the foot of the steps that ran up to the raised platform above, she paused, casting her eyes searchingly at the walls around them. Lit by torchlight though they were, the chamber was simply too big to be lit in its entirety, and even now, long motes of darkness crept up the walls and between the pillars, each one like long clawing talons. Something stirred in the back of her thoughts; a memory of Tartarus and the shadows there. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end and she suppressed a shiver. She could not shake the feeling that they were being watched.

Doing her best to ignore it and focus on the task at hand, she mounted the steps, taking them two at a time until she was standing on the raised platform opposite what she could now tell was clearly a sarcophagus. It was a huge circular thing, cut in the likeness of a massive Spartan shield, and laid out on top of it was the carved effigy of a man, lying stately and serene, his eyes closed and hands folded across his chest. It was the face Callisto noticed immediately. It had been carefully worked into the stone, and even though the centuries had worn it down somewhat, the fierce aquiline nose and flat cheeks lent the figure an all too familiar appearance.

"Looks like someone we know doesn't he," Athelis said simply as he stepped up beside her.

Callisto nodded, her attention fixed on the sarcophagus, her eyes sharp and searching.

"So," she heard Athelis say as he turned to face their prisoner, "Is this the tomb of Lycurgus? Is this what you were trying to hide when you sent your Brothers to try and kill Monocles and I on the road to Sparta?"

"I know nothing about that!" the Follower spat sharply, his voice angry an incensed. "Even if I did, I would not tell the likes of you anything!"

"Glutton for punishment, don't you think?" Athelis said, flashing Callisto a suggestively sadistic grin.

Callisto only shook her head at him, to which Athelis frowned in return.

"Are you _trying_ to spoil my fun?" he said.

"There's no need," Callisto replied, pointing to the sarcophagus and small series of symbols worked across the stone shield's surface.

"We have what we came for," she continued. "see?" One of the symbols was of a roaring lion, identical to the crest of Leonidas and the Agiad Line.

"Definitely Lycurgus' tomb then," Athelis grinned.

Callisto nodded again, but absently this time. She had noticed something else beyond the sarcophagus; a strange, sickly yellow light that lit up the rear end of the cavern's wall. Carefully she sniffed at the air again, feeling that same familiar sulfuric scent burning in her nostrils. She knew what it was of course. She had known since she first entered the chamber.

Without a word, she walked cautiously past the sarcophagus, her fingers brushing lightly over the stone as she walked. Just ahead, the platform dropped away sharply, disappearing down a sheer carved rock face and into thick and noxious yellow lake below. It was the source of the strange, sickly light that lent its dim illumination to the flickering torchlight from around the chamber. Out in the distance, a thin sliver of failing daylight lanced down from a gap in the ceiling somewhere overhead, alighting on a small island of natural stone that rose, ugly and misshapen out of the lake. A long rope lead back from the island to a small wooden boat, moored some distance down the rock face from her.

Near to the boat, a crude wooden framework appeared to have been hastily erected. From the looks of things, it was some kind of pulley system, designed to lower buckets down into the lake and bring them back up full to be retrieved.

She frowned in confusion, turning over all the details in her mind. Something did not quite add up. The tomb was why Soriacles had died. She had known it from the moment she sighted the lake. He had been killed to keep this place a secret. The Followers had taken advantage of the situation though. They had played it smart, and used his death to rile up the local Helot populace, deepening the schism between the Spartans and their slave underclass until the Spartans had been forced to offer them freedom, which in turn had led to Ithius' betrayal of Leonidas.

But why?

She knew they wanted a war. Of that much she was certain, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised it did not quite make sense. Splitting the Helots from Leonidas' cause only served to weaken the Greek side against the Persians. Surely, if the goal was death on a massive scale, then it made more sense to pit armies that were more or less equal against one another. It would make the war more drawn out, and the death toll higher. There was something else at work beneath all of this, the one piece of the puzzle that simply did not fit, no matter how hard she tried to make it. Was this what Ares had tried to tell her? What was she missing!?

"This is that Pneuma stuff you were talking about?" Athelis voice sounded close behind her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts she had not even heard him approach.

"The very same," she nodded glancing back over her shoulder at him. Their prisoner was with him, Athelis' hand fixed firmly to the man's shoulder.

Carefully Athelis took a step toward the edge of the platform, peering cautiously down at the lake while his nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell assaulting it.

"And you actually drank this stuff?" he said, flashing her a disbelieving look.

"I inhaled it," Callisto said. "There's quite a big difference."

Athelis straightened, shaking his head as he did so.

"I don't envy you that either," he said. "Smells like a Cyclops died in there."

The two of them fell silent for a while, both just staring down into the lake of Pneuma as if it were some kind of mirror, its surface as smooth and even as polished glass. Oddly enough though, the only things it seemed to reflect were the two of them. The rest of the chamber, the rock face, the platform, the boat; the Pneuma reflected none of them. Next to her, Callisto listened to Athelis' leathers creaking as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, casting him a sideways glance.

He shrugged.

"Not really," he said, then puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. "It's just that... well... I've been thinking..."

"That must have been a challenge," Callisto grinned devilishly at him, and Athelis slanted an eyebrow at her in turn.

"...about some of the things you've said to me," he continued, ignoring her jibes, "and I was just wondering about... you know..."

Callisto cocked her head at him quizzically.

"I really don't," she said. "What are you trying to say?"

Athelis scrubbed a hand through his hair, a look of genuine discomfort on his face.

"...About you, and how this makes you feel."

Callisto frowned at him and gave a confused scratch of her forehead.

"How what makes me feel?"

"This!" Athelis said, his voice rising as he gestured at the tomb around them. "Finding the tomb, knowing you were right, and having what you want so close you can almost taste it!"

He took a low breath to calm himself before continuing on.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, you told me that none of it was ever enough. That this pain, this hurt inside; that it never goes away." He rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck, a strangely boyish gesture that Callisto had never seen him do before and for a brief moment she was not looking at Athelis, the vengeance hardened mercenary. Instead, she saw only a normal man; maybe even the man he had been when he had first met his wife and fallen in love with her, and Callisto knew it was a side of him that was slowly slipping away, gradually being consumed by the hatred inside him.

"In the end," he continued, "all I'm really asking is, does any of this make you feel... I don't know... Better, I suppose?"

Callisto flashed him a look of disbelief.

"You really want to have this conversation now?" she said, her voice filled with incredulity.

Athelis regarded her for a moment, then nodded tightly, his stone faced mask of disinterest already firmly back in place.

"Not the best timing huh," he said.

"Not so much, no," Callisto replied and turned to stare back out over the Pneuma lake, nudging a small fragment of stone over the edge so that it vanished into the foul smelling liquid with a quiet plop.

She did not really know how she was supposed to feel, but she _had_ expected to feel something, she knew that much. Maybe release, or exultation, or any number of other emotions at finding the tomb, saving Leonidas, and potentially earning her place in Elysium. In the end though, the one thing she had not expected was to feel quite so... numb.

She let out a low sigh.

"To tell you the truth, I don't feel a lot of anything anymore," she said. "I'm not really sure why. Maybe I just can't."

She cast him a sideways glance.

"How about you?" she asked. "Are you feeling what you thought you would?"

Athelis paused for a moment, seeming to think about that, then finally shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I thought I'd feel... relieved I suppose. Finding this place puts me a big step closer to seeing Pelion's head on a pike, right where it belongs..." he paused and gave a frustrated sigh, "...but I still don't feel any of that. Instead, I just feel kind of..."

His voice trailed off as he tried to search for the words.

"Numb?" Callisto offered. "Hollow?" She gave him a knowing half smile. "Not enough is it?"

Athelis shook his head.

"I just don't think it's what I really want is all."

"It never is," Callisto replied, and Athelis frowned at her.

"So what is it that you're after then?" he asked with more than a little irritation.

Callisto tapped a finger against her lip thoughtfully.

"You're the second person in as many days to ask me that," she said her gaze far away and lost in her own memories, "I don't think I'm really sure any more."

She jolted herself out of her reverie and turned to look Athelis square in the eye.

"I used to be, though" she said. "I used to know exactly what it was that I wanted, and that was enough to make everything else in my life fall into place. It was all so clear, what I had to do – no – what I needed to do! It all seemed so simple and easy. Too easy really, I suppose."

"So what changed?" Athelis asked.

"Nothing," she said, never taking her eyes from his. "I got what it was I thought I wanted, and nothing changed at all." She shrugged. "Nothing ever _really_ changes."

Athelis did not respond, instead staying silent and staring bleakly out across the lake. Callisto watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. What _did_ he want? Did he even know? Or was he really just the same as her, swept along by his own bitterness and hate?

"All I can tell you Athelis, is that all I used to want was to feel better, and the only way I knew how to do that was by hurting everyone around me." She took a long deep breath, her thoughts turning to Leonidas, and strangely enough, to Hercules and even to Xena. "People used to try and tell me how lost I was and how there were other, better ways to make the pain go away. I didn't listen to them. Now though, this instant, I have someone depending on me, someone placing their trust in me, and I think I'm finally starting to understand what those people were talking about all along..."

Behind them, she heard their prisoner give a derisive snort.

"Touching!" he sneered at them. "Truly touching, the pair of you."

Athelis turned to glare at him.

"I think we made a mistake not breaking his jaw," he said darkly and Callisto flashed the prisoner a glance too.

"We would have missed out on all that delightful whimpering though," she said.

"I am not afraid of you!" the man jeered back at them. "My Brothers will come for me, and my Lord will be freed! When that day comes, you will both of you know suffering beyond what you can possibly imagine!"

Athelis stalked angrily up to him.

"You won't need to wait to find out what that suffering feels like if you don't shut up," he snarled. The man cowered back from him, but still managed to lift his chin defiantly.

"You think my Lord does not know of you mercenary? You think he cannot find you? He sees and hears all! He knows you, even now! Knows you better than you know yourself! He looks into the dark hearts of all of us, and the hate he finds there only makes him stronger! He..."

Athelis' sharp punch to the man's sternum doubled him over and caused him to gasp in pain.

"They really don't know when to stop talking do they?" Athelis said to Callisto with a 'what can you do' shrug.

Callisto only rolled her eyes and turned to leave. She had had quite enough of this place, what with its sulfuric stink and the dark and somber thoughts that had been plaguing her since she had arrived.

"Come on," she said. "It's past time for us to be getting back to Sparta. The Ephors will need to be told about this place."

Athelis nodded but said nothing, instead tightening his grip on their prisoner, and began to fall into step behind her.

Suddenly, at the corner of her vision, Callisto saw the shadows flicker in an unnatural fashion and her back stiffened instinctively.

"Athelis..." she said, reaching back over her shoulder to draw her sword, as she turned slowly, taking in the full scope of the chamber all around her.

"I saw it,"Athelis said. "I don't think we're alone in here."

"You never were," the Follower in his grip crowed triumphantly. "My Brother is come! Just as I knew he would!"

As if in answer, the shadows ahead of them cracked and split, like a river bed after a drought, and through them, Mortius stepped to stand before them, tall and foreboding, his long dark robes almost unnaturally still. At his side he carried that same long spear that had nearly ended Callisto at their previous encounter.

The sight of him standing before them made Callisto's heart sink with dismay. She should have known that this was not going to be so easy as to simply walk in and then back out again. At the temple of Artemis, she and Athelis had barely escaped from Mortius with their lives. Now, he was between them and the exit, and with that realisation came another that caused her to grind her teeth together in a dark, frustrated sneer. Yet again, she had been so close! So close to finally putting an end to her pain, so close to saving Leonidas, and guaranteeing herself a place in Elysium with her family! She may not have known which of those things she actually wanted more, but she knew that right now, Mortius was standing between her and all of them.

"His Soul is come at last!" Their prisoner cried out, "My Brother, has come to ensure our plans! You will both die! Do you hear me! DIE!"

Without warning, he lashed out with his elbow, catching Athelis off guard and hard beneath the ribs with his one good arm. Athelis stumbled sideways, momentarily stunned, and lost his grip on the man, allowing him to shake himself free and take off at a run before either Callisto or Athelis could stop him.

"Praise be to our Lord that you're here!" The man shouted to Mortius as he sprinted across the open ground. "They tried to make me talk! They tortured me! Put me through pain like I had never known before, yet still, I did not break! You must kill them! Kill them both!"

Mortius never stirred from where he stood. Instead he remained perfectly still, waiting for the Follower to reach him.

"Do not concern yourself with their fates Brother," he said as the man skidded to a stop in front of him, his chest heaving from the sudden exertion.

"But they should suffer!" the Follower protested "as they made me suffer, should they not?"

"Suffering is unimportant," Mortius replied. "Failure on the other hand..."

His backhand was unexpected and vicious. It caught the Follower hard across the face, a perfectly judged strike that shattered the man's cheekbone with a sickening crunch. The prisoner hit the floor, howling in pain, as Mortius tilted his head to regard him where we lay. Even with someone as taciturn and difficult to read as Mortius, Callisto could feel the disdain radiating off him.

"Did you think our Lord did not know of your betrayal?" the shadow cowled figure asked, his voice like ice rasping against stone. "Did you think he did not hear your thoughts? You called out to him in your pain, and, supremely benevolent as he is, he turned his gaze upon you. What he saw incensed him! You led his enemies _here_, to the one place that could undo all our work, and now you come to me, begging for my aid? For _his _aid!?"

"But Brother!" the man protested, his voice little more than a pathetic whine. "I had no choice! They tortured me! They..."

Mortius' blade swept around in a strike so rapid, Callisto almost thought she had missed it. For a moment the Follower lay still, suddenly silent and motionless. Then, slowly, his head rolled away from his body.

"You are not my Brother," Mortius hissed, the shadows clustered at his feet reaching out hungrily to creep over the body like a horde of rats sweeping across a corpse.

There was something about the way the shadows moved in his presence that stirred a memory inside Callisto. It was the same memory she had had before. The way they hooked and clawed around the Follower's corpse, dragged her back to her journey across the Styx with Charon... and what had come after it on the distant shore at the edge of Tartarus itself, that strange mist shrouded half-way land between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Athelis, capitalising on Mortius' distraction and using the moment to slip sideways out of sight and into the gloom behind the pillars and statues. Callisto chose to remain in plain sight, parting her feet slightly, her sword held loosely at her side but ready to be brought up into a striking posture at an instant's notice. She did not want Mortius to began actively trying to find Athelis. Better to remain where she was and try to hold his attention while the other man got into position.

Mortius' gaze lifted from the body, and fixed upon her again, his head cocked slightly in that curious manner he had. Then, as if in mockery of her, the shadows rolled back over him again and he disappeared from view. Callisto felt the anger already stirring inside her begin to burn harder. With an arrogant toss of her head, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin imperiously, her fingers tightening around her sword hilt as she began to stride across the stone platform. She had had enough of being on the back foot and playing the fearful little mouse. She would not let herself be cowed by this one trick freak and his little vanishing act. She would not let him stand in her way, not now she was this close to everything she had been trying to achieve.

In the past she had failed more than she had ever succeeded, her quest for vengeance driving her into an abyss of madness and despair. Well, this time she would not fail. She would save Leonidas, and everything would be right again. She swore it to herself from between clenched jaws.

"Well, well, well," she said, adopting the same mocking tone she had used so often to infuriate and annoy her enemies. "It looks like Pelion's little attack dog is back for round two. Are you here to try and stop us then? Keep us from foiling your pretty little scheme to get the Persians and Spartans to go to war with on another?"

"You are trying to bait me," his voice answered, deep but hollow. It seemed to be coming from all around them, reverberating off the stone walls the same way a gong strike would. "Using what you know to try and intimidate me, make me reveal my hand to you so that you can turn it against me. A sound strategy, but it will not work. I have spent lifetimes trapped beyond the edges of the world you know," his voice continued to float hauntingly on the air all around her, "Unable to speak, unable to move, unable even to breathe, able only to watch and listen. It is a torture like you could never imagine. There I learned to be patient in a way you cannot conceive. It is impossible to make me angry Callisto."

"Never say never," Callisto retorted, descending the steps, with fluid, serpentine strides until she was standing back on the main tomb floor, a wicked grin slicing across her face as she swept her eyes back and forth across the shadows. "I have a special talent for irritation."

"Nor can you manipulate me," Mortius' voice echoed out to her, still calm and impassive. "It's far too transparent a tactic. One need only apply pressure in the right manner to produce the desired results. Allow me to demonstrate..."

Suddenly the shadows in a corner of the chamber cracked and split again, and Mortius was there, standing in a completely different location to where he had been previously, his staff shining wickedly in the dim torchlight.

"Ticktock, Callisto, ticktock," His voice resounded deeply of the walls, but not in the same directionless fashion as it had before. There was a taunting edge to it now; one that dripped with mockery "Leonidas' time is beginning to run out..."

He took a meaningful step forward, his trailing shadows twisting hungrily as he moved.

"...or perhaps, while you dally here with me, it already has, and even as we speak, he is little more than a rotting, bloated corpse upon some distant battlefield."

Callisto gritted her teeth, and took her own threatening step forward, her sword clenched tightly between her fingers.

"You see how easy that was," Mortius said, his voice once more flat and emotionless. "The right pressure points pushed and I can make you dance to whatever tune I wish."

"It's a good job I already know the steps then," Callisto retorted. "Maybe I should teach you them."

"My patience is inexhaustible," was Mortius' only reply. "I cannot be goaded, tricked, or otherwise taunted. Can you say the same?"

"Patience never was one of my virtues," Callisto shot back tightly.

"I imagine that listing said virtues would not take long," Mortius replied flatly.

"Why, Mortius!" Callisto forced herself to giggle, clapping her hands together in mock astonishment "Was that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

Mortius did not reply. Instead, he turned his head, as if surveying the pillars that ran along the length of the room.

"You have brought Pelion's stalking bloodhound with you," he said. "I must admit, I was less than impressed with his performance at the temple. Considering how much Pelion fears him, I had expected much more of a challenge. In the end he was so dissapointingly..." he paused as if searching for the words. "...normal," he finished then, tilted his head back, as if sniffing at the air.

"I know you are out there!" he called out to the darkness beyond the pillars. "You cannot hide in the shadows. They belong to me and even now, your fear burns brightly among them. I will extinguish it soon enough, but first..."

Her turned his gaze back to Callisto.

"...first I will deal with you." Slowly, he cocked his head again, and Callisto found herself wondering what exactly it was he was listening for... or maybe even who he was listening to?

"You, Callisto, are a much more exhilarating prospect," he said, sounding almost like what he was saying was a grudging admission of respect. "You do not fear me the same way he does; the same way all others do..."

Callisto smiled back at him wickedly.

"Mortius," she giggled, "I've taken down Warrior Princesses, noble champions, gods, goddesses, and even an ancient primeval spirit of overwhelming evil. I've been dead, and I've been immortal, and I've seen pretty much everything else in between. Put in that context, you're natty little line of shadow slinging party tricks really don't impress me that much."

"You have not seen everything." Mortius replied, and suddenly the shadows reached out from all around, taking him in an almost loving embrace until he had completely disappeared from view once more.

"I've seen that one a couple of times now!" Callisto retorted smartly.

When he spoke again, his voice was echoing in from all around her in the same manner it had before.

"Tell me something," he said, ignoring her jibe "How much did Zeus tell you about we, Cronus' loyal Followers? Did he tell you we were evil? That we were come only to destroy and wreak carnage? That we must be stopped, no matter the cost?"

Callisto hefted her sword up into a ready position. All around her, the shadows were beginning to roil and dance, as if she were trapped at the bottom of a cauldron of boiling water.

"...Or did he tell you nothing at all?" the disembodied voice continued. "Yes, I think that's it isn't it? A blind warrior, thrown to the wolves as a sacrificial lamb to buy time for weakened and failing gods, and all for a promise that you know in your heart of hearts they will never fulfill."

"None of that matters to me anymore!" she snapped back, and was surprised when she realised she meant it. "All that does matter is that, right now, you're standing between me and my goal."

She flexed her sword so that her shoulder joint popped loudly.

"Ah yes," Mortius replied. "Your strange attachment to Leonidas. So you trade loyalty to one set of masters for another? Have you no will of your own? Must you always spend yourself in service to others?"

Callisto's lip curled upward in a disgusted sneer.

"You're trying to recruit me?" she said. "Is that what this is about?"

When Mortius spoke again, he sounded genuinely weary, as if he were talking to a particularly dense child.

"Once again, you are a disappointment," he said. "I have no interest in you whatsoever, at least none beyond stopping you revealing the location of this place. It is almost a pity really. Your reputation is a formidable one. Would that I had met the real Callisto, rather than this pitiful shell of a woman that stands before me now."

Callisto grinned at the shadows around her, doing her best to try and figure out exactly where he was most likely to reappear.

"You think you know me so well," she jeered. "Well, I might know a little more about you than you think I do. Those shadows in Tartarus, the ones that tried to grab for me after I crossed the Styx; those were you weren't they?"

Mortius' voice fell silent, and Callisto's grin widened. The comment about Tartarus had been a shot in the dark, a wild guess fueled more by desperation to find some chink in his otherwise impenetrable armour. She was quietly surprised it had even paid off, let alone rendered him speechless.

"Ah," she smiled smugly. "So this 'pitiful shell of a woman' may know a little something something after all."

She placed a free hand on her hip and shifted her weight to a more aggressive stance.

"Now then, since you're so chatty today, and we seem to be in a sharing mood, maybe you should tell me something else that's been bothering me." Knowing she had already blind sided him, she wanted to keep him on the defensive, not give him time to marshal his thoughts. This might be the only chance she got to learn anything from him.

"Did Zeus throw you into the Underworld before or after he gutted your 'Lord' the first time around?" she asked with a smug smile.

"Do not presume you know anything about me!" Mortius' voice suddenly spat venomously from out of the darkness. "You know nothing of who I am, about what pains I have had to endure! NOTHING!"

"Touched a sensitive there spot didn't I!" she shouted back, a sense of grim satisfaction alighting in her gut as she did so. "I know enough, and as someone recently told me, knowing your enemy is the first step toward ending them!"

"Enlighten me then," Mortius' sneer was savage and filled with bile. "What could you possibly know that could ever hurt me?"

Callisto's grin widened still further, her teeth white and shark like in the growing gloom.

"I know you burn," she giggled sadistically, remembering their last confrontation. "Now I'm looking forward to finding out if you bleed too..."

Mortius' guttural snarl echoed loudly all about her, and suddenly the shadows to her left flexed tightly, then snapped, revealing him hurtling toward her in a furious leap, his robes billowing at his back as his long bladed staff lashed out toward her head in a flashing arc of silver

Callisto dropped instinctively, her leg lashing out in a clean sweep intended to take Mortius' legs from under him. He was too skilled for such a simple counter though, and jumped clear just in time, reversing the momentum of his swinging staff and arcing it round into a downward cut that forced Callisto into a backward roll, the blade atop it gouging through the stone floor with a shower of sparks and an ear piercing screech almost beyond hearing.

She was already straightening when he came in at her again, that same silver blade arcing cruelly in toward her gut this time. With a vicious yell, she brought her sword around to catch it in a graceless parry. The weapons impacted against one another with such force that the resulting clash echoed loudly across the chamber and shook Callisto's arms to the bone.

"So, the big bad Mortius has a temper after all," she sneered at him as their blades squealed loudly against one another.

"This is pointless," he growled back at her, and shoved hard, trying to force her off balance. "You could not defeat me at the temple of Artemis. You will not defeat me now."

Callisto countered his rough move, bracing hard with her back foot, and pushing back against him, all the while doing her best to hide her surprise at just how strong he was. His muscles were like stone, never once surrendering so much as an inch, no matter how hard she shoved against his guard. Sweat was beginning to bead in the small of her back. She could not hold this position much longer.

"Oh, don't be so sure of that," she grinned with false confidence and trying hard not let her arms shake as she felt them beginning to weaken. "There's one advantage you had last time that you don't now."

"And what would that be?" Mortius hissed.

Callisto raised an eyebrow at him cockily.

"This time I've got room to move," she said, then quickly skipped back, leaving Mortius to shove against nothing but air.

The shadowy figure stumbled forward slightly, momentarily off balance. Callisto tried to seize the opportunity, but he moved too quickly, turning his stumble into a crouching sweep with that damnable staff of his.

As if on instinct, she threw herself into a backward flip, the staff passing harmlessly beneath her, her trailing leg lashing out to catch Mortius hard in the stomach and driving him back a pace or two. She was relishing the greater space the tomb provided to maneuver. In their previous encounter, the close confines had favoured the reach of his staff, limiting Callisto's mobility and allowing him to keep her at a distance, while still being able to contain her movement. Here, that was no longer the case and she was free to move how she saw fit.

As she landed, she barely had time to register Mortius' sudden reversal as he came in at her again, his movements lightning fast and driven by a dark fury she had not seen from him before. He flipped the staff along its axis and yanked it up in a diagonal cross cut designed to hack Callisto in two as if it were a butcher knife filleting steak. Callisto responded by taking advantage of the space afforded her again, leaping into a sideways cartwheel that carried her clear of Mortius' blade, but not before it sheared through a couple of her trailing strands of hair like a sickle harvesting wheat in the field.

As her feet alighted on the floor once more, she flung herself into an offensive, pivoting and bringing her sword around in a perfect spinning, back hander that would have taken a lesser warriors head clean from their shoulders.

Mortius moved with the same speed and ferocity she was growing accustomed to. Back stepping out of reach of her blade, he twisted in a similar reverse back hand to her own, his sickle blade once again meeting her sword with another ringing crash. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he inverted the silver staff weapon's edge, hooking her sword in an attempt to yank it from her grasp as he had done at the temple previously.

Callisto grinned wickedly. She had been expecting this. With a snarling yell, she released her grip on the sword hilt, allowing it to clatter noisily to the ground, much to Mortius' surprise. Not prepared for the move, he stood motionless for a split second, trying to readjust the momentum of his weapon, and Callisto seized on the opportunity. She stepped inside his guard as quickly and easily as the wind gusting through the trees, and planted a furious barrage of palm and elbow strikes across his torso. Mortius let out a low hiss, recoiling in pain as Callisto pressed her advantage, raining down blow after blow on his defences. She did not let up for an instant, her teeth gritted in rage as she pushed him back across the tomb floor. The anger that had been building inside her through the entire fight finally exploded, creating a fresh torrent of purest rage that surged through her veins like scorching acid, purging everything that it touched until there was nothing left. Somewhere, at the edge of her mind, she heard that bitter, sneering laughter begin once more, and with a furious hiss, she redoubled her efforts, pounding Mortius as if her very soul were riding on it, which, in some ways she supposed, it was.

Try as she might though, she could not get past his guard, and slowly exhaustion and frustration began to get the better of her. At first, Mortius was simply doing his best to fend off her strikes, then slowly the nature of the fight began to shift. More and more of his blocks and parries became counter strikes, disrupting Callisto's rhythm and edging the momentum back into his favour. Callisto's teeth ground tightly together as she tried desperately to reassert her dominance, images of Leonidas, and the golden fields of Elysium flashing through the back of her mind as that taunting laughter echoed louder and louder inside her skull. She could not lose this fight! No matter what it took, she had to win!

Then suddenly, and completely unexpectedly, her fist hammered into Mortius' waiting palm, his fingers closing around it like a steel trap. He paused for a moment to regard her with disdainful tilt of his head, then twisted savagely. Callisto did her best not cry out, but could not stop herself, and she doubled over in pain as he pushed her joint close to breaking.

"You are proving most difficult to kill," he said, sounding genuinely surprised.

Callisto did her best to grin at him through the pain he was inflicting on her.

"Tell that to Xena," she giggled from between gritted teeth. "She's been trying get me to stay dead for years now!"

"I can imagine her frustration," Mortius retorted, then twisted at her wrist again, the opposite direction this time, and Callisto hissed as she felt the joint begin to creak under the pressure.

"Zeus may have chosen better than I thought with you," Mortius continued. "Still, despite all his effort, here you are, at the feet of the Soul of Cronus; the great shining hope of the gods, broken and defeated by the will of their ancient enemy."

Slowly, the silver blade of his sickle staff slid across her vision, and Callisto could not help but notice the blood of their former prisoner still staining it.

"It is somewhat fitting really. You will die in the same manner that the Olympians will soon face; on your knees, wracked with pain, and utterly, utterly alone..."

Slowly he began to draw the blade back for a killing blow, Callisto lifting her head to glare up at him defiantly one last time...

...which was when Athelis landed across his back.

"You're forgetting one thing!" the mercenary hissed, his familiar notched dagger flashing dully as he twirled it in his grip so that it was held high and poised to strike. "She was never alone!"

With a furious shout, he brought the dagger down hard into Mortius' side, but before it could pierce flesh, it was stopped short. Mortius had released Callisto, and somehow managed to snare Athelis by the wrist, his grip as unyielding as stone. Athelis' eyes widened, the tendons in his neck bulging as he matched his strength against Mortius' but no matter how hard he strained, he could not break the dark figure's grip on him.

Mortius responded by pulling him close, shaking his head wearily at Athelis as, with seemingly very little effort, he twisted the dagger around to point back at the other man's stomach.

"Still such a disappointment," he muttered.

Callisto felt her heart beat thundering in her chest. Athelis was about to die! She had never really been sure what to make of him before now, or even if she actually liked the man, but in this moment, she still knew that she could not – no – would not let him perish.

She clenched her fingers tightly together, straightening as she did so, then, with an ear piercing shriek of purest hatred, she flung herself at Mortius, her hands outstretched and clawing desperately for his unseen eyes in an attempt to draw him off Athelis.

Their robed attacker countered with a cruel flowing grace. Pivoting on the spot, he brought his leg around in a powerful kick that slammed Athelis back against a nearby pillar. The mercenary's head cracked against the stone with an audible crunch that made Callisto wince, as he slid limply to the ground and lay still.

She did not have time to work out whether or not he was alive or dead. Before she could even blink, Mortius' follow through was bringing the blade of his staff around in a wicked quicksilver blur intended to bury the weapon right in the center of her ribcage. She barely had time to react to the strike, sidestepping hurriedly out of the path of the oncoming blade but directly into the path of the staff's haft. Just in time, she managed to get her hands up to deflect the worst of the blow, but she had known gods hit with less force.

The staff hammered into her with the same force as a cyclops swinging a tree trunk, while the sheer force of the blow lifted her off her feet and sent her sailing backward through the air to crash hard against one of the statues' copper shields. Winded from both Mortius' strike and the impact with the shield, she collapsed face first to the floor, her breath coming in forced, ragged gasps. With a pained groan, she rolled onto her back, just in time to see that the bronze shield she had collided with had been jarred loose, and that it was now swinging alarmingly on the hooks that affixed it to the statue.

She let out a short, sharp cry of surprise as suddenly, those same hooks snapped, sending the shield crashing down the length of the statue, edge first, and straight toward Callisto's neck.

Just in time, she managed to roll to one side, and the shield hit the stone floor beside her with a terrific clang that set her head and ears ringing.

Slowly and somewhat groggily, still dazed as she was from the force of Mortius' strike, she tried to rise to her feet, only to feel a pressure weighing down on her chest.

Concentrating hard, she tried to bring the spinning scenery of the tomb around her to a stand still, and as her vision resolved she finally caught sight of Mortius, standing with his foot pushing her back hard against the floor. She reached up futilely to claw at his leg, and felt the haft of his spear press down on her wrist, leaving her with only one arm free.

"Why do you struggle so?" He asked. Callisto did not answer. Instead, she hissed furiously at him and redoubled her strained efforts to free herself. There had to be a way out of this! She refused to accept that this was how it would end!

Above her, Mortius only gave another weary shake of his head and twisted the haft of his staff hard against her wrist, causing Callisto to wince in pain.

"I had thought you would welcome death," he said flatly. "After all, would it not be an end to your pain? And end to the suffering? An end to all those years spent hating and being hated in turn..."

"I happen to think I have quite the sunny disposition!" Callisto snarled up at him, but Mortius ignored her.

"...If it is the sting of death you fear, I can assure you it will only last a moment, and then you will be free..."

"...to burn in Tartarus you mean!" Callisto hissed, her free hand scrabbling desperately back and forth across the stone, her legs kicking futilely as she tried to somehow get loose. "Oh do spare me the hard sell. Pelion already tried it on me and I'm not in the market to buy."

"Then you did not listen to him," Mortius replied. "As you have never listened to anyone. You need not fear the Underworld Callisto, for when my Lord Cronus is free, there will be no more Tartarus! Hades will be vanquished with the rest of them, and the afterlife will be my Lord's to remake however he sees fit. Tartartus will never be able to hurt any of us ever again. There will be nothing to fear from death, and my Lord will not stop there. He has the power to remake the world! To free us all from the petty tyranny of the Olympians! Eternity in paradise could belong to all of us, in this world and the next. By coming here, by trying to save Leonidas, you are threatening all of that! Why would you do such a thing? Why, when it could so easily belong to you, to Leonidas, to your _family_!"

The mention of her family caused Callisto to fall still for a moment, but the anger in her gut continued to blaze hotter and hotter, until it became roaring inferno, burning any other emotion that touched it down to ash. It was then that her clawed hands brushed against something cold and metal lying not far from her. The shield that had fallen from the statue!

With fire burning in her, she hooked it with her finger tips, drawing it closer to her and wrapping her fingers under the rim as she did so.

"Eternal peace and paradise could be for all of them!" Mortius continued, his voice suddenly impassioned in a way she had never heard from him before. "Your father, Pankos, your mother, Arleia, your sister..."

Callisto could take no more, and her anger finally boiled over as she tightened her grip on the shield.

"You..." she snarled up at him, "...leave my family..."

Her voice rose to the pitch of a vicious yell as she lashed out with the shield, the heavy bronze disc smashing hard into Mortius and flinging him sideways off her.

"...OUT OF THIS!" she finished, suddenly free and seizing on the opportunity to rise to her feet, the shield still clutched tightly between her fingers.

As always, Mortius' surprise was only momentary, and he was already recovering by the time Callisto was upright. His staff lashed out for her again, but this time she was prepared for it.

Still holding the shield, she gripped it tightly with both hands, leaning back and thrusting the rim of it up to catch Mortius' staff's blade. Her aim proved true, and the sickle hooked around the shield's edge, and Mortius yanked hard against his staff, trying to pull the shield from her hands the same way as he had with her sword only minutes before.

Callisto clung on grimly, and when as his weapon held fast, she braced her foot against the rear of the shield for leverage, and fell into a backward roll, the sheer momentum of her own weight, combined with Mortius' surprise and the weight of the shield, serving to tug the staff sharply out of his grasp, only to clatter noisily to the ground.

As she finished her backward roll, Callisto brought the shield up, ready to defend against any attack, only to realise Mortius had already pulled his vanishing act again. Cautiously she narrowed her eyes, her gaze sliding back and forth across the shadows.

Normally she would have said something now, taunted him in some way, but her anger was burning too hotly in her chest now. How had he known her family's names? She shook her head. It did not matter how he knew them. She would never let him near them! Him or his 'Lord'! Her family had paid for their place and peace in Elysium with their lives, and if there was one thing Callisto knew more certainly than anything else, it was that she would never allow anything to threaten that or them ever again. If that meant she had to face down a Titan, then so be it.

Suddenly, the shadows to her left began to flicker and dance crazily, and before she was entirely ready, Mortius reappeared, flying out of the darkness at her, his hands outstretched to choke the life from her. Callisto was getting used to his little bag of parlour tricks now though, and she hurriedly span on her heel, bringing the shield round hard to crash into the robed figure's side. The impact of mettle against bone boomed loudly off the pillars, and Mortius reeled backward under the force of the blow, Callisto shadowing him and lashing out with the shield yet again. This time he attempted to lift his arms as a block the strike, but the hit was too vicious and the shield too heavy. It smashed through his guard as if it were a stone hurled against glass, and Mortius staggered, visibly dazed by now.

Again and again and again, Callisto hit him with the shield, striking from right to left, and then back again from left to right, the shield swinging great sweeping arcs that knocked him this way and that, but that were always forcing him backward across the tomb, and right up the edge of the Pneuma lake. Her teeth were clenched together so hard it almost hurt, the hate and the anger thundering inside her like a roaring maelstrom of fury driven by thoughts of Leonidas and the golden fields of Elysium where her family now dwelt, and the fate that might await all of them were she to fail.

"You…" She snarled cruelly, bringing the shield around so that its rim struck him hard across the jaw. "…will not hurt Leonidas! You will not hurt my family!"

She brought the shield back across the other side of his face, sending him slamming to the ground with another pealing boom that bounced raucously from pillar to pillar and statue to statue.

"I won't let you!" she snapped, following up her last strike with a vicious kick to Mortius' ribs that flipped him groaning onto his back.

"DO YOU HEAR ME!?" she continued furiously, stepping astride him and raising the shield above her head as she prepared to bring it down, rim first, in a final powerful strike that would crush his throat.

"I WON'T LET…" Suddenly she stopped, her voice trailing off as she fixed her furious stare on the figure that now lay prostrate beneath her.

When he had flipped onto his back, the ever present shadows that seemed to trail him wherever he went had pulled back, almost as if they were fleeing him in his moment of weakness. The heavy hood that covered his face had fallen away too, and for the first time Callisto found herself staring down at Mortius' face.

It was pale.

That was the first thing she noticed. Too pale really, his skin a chalk-like white, as if he had not truly seen sunlight his entire life. His features had an almost corpse like caste to them. They were thin and haggard, the pallid skin pulled tight across his narrow skull, yet still marked by long lines of age. His eyes, closed now, were little more than sunken, grey rimmed pits, and his mouth was a thin slit, lipless and downturned. His hair was dark, almost jet black, but it hung limp and lifeless to his shoulders. A long pink scar ran horizontally across his slim sharp nose, and the skin around his throat was puckered and withered, an old injury that most closely resembled a rope burn from a hangman's noose.

Slowly, she began to lower the shield, and for a moment the anger raging inside her sputtered. It had been so easy to hate him when he was little more than a monster out of nightmare. Now though, he was revealed as nothing more than a man, one whose suffering was writ large across his flesh, and for the first time in her adult life, Callisto found it difficult to hate someone.

"What _happened_ to you?" she whispered almost to herself.

Suddenly, Mortius' eyes whipped open, narrow dark orbs filled to the brim with ice cold fury. With a single fluid twist, he rolled onto his side, his legs lashing out and scissoring hers from beneath her. As she hit the ground, she tucked and rolled, coming up just in time to see Mortius bearing down on her, his hood still thrown back, his narrow mouth set in a grim expression.

Callisto flung herself forward to meet him, but this time he did not dance aside, or back or otherwise try to toy with her. Her first punch connected only with his forearm, and he turned the blow aside easily, his hand gripping her arm tightly and twisting it up behind her back. Before she could even cry out in pain, his other hand reached out and caught her by the throat, his fingers tightening coldly around her windpipe.

She gagged hard as she felt her feet leave the floor, Mortius lifting her into the air, one handed and by her neck, as if she weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

"I was betrayed!" he hissed, carrying her over to the edge of the stone platform, the Pneuma's smooth, glass like surface letting off its sickly glow behind her. "Betrayed by the very same masters you now give your allegiance to! Why do you serve them? In the end, they will discard you, the same way one does a weapon with a blunted edge. You will be cast aside, without thought or compassion, as they once did to me!"

For a moment his grip slackened, allowing her to gulp in a pained lungful of air.

"My... heart... bleeds... for..." She managed to hiss, only to have the rest of her jibe cut short by a strangled gasp as Mortius squeezed harder once more.

In response, she kicked and struggled futilely against him, even going so far as to gnash her teeth at him in a vain attempt to bite at the hand that held her. Slowly but surely, he extended the arm holding her out until she was completely beyond the stone platform, her legs dangling over the lake below. Her eyes rolled downward toward the disgusting yellow mass of Pneuma, its putrid sulfuric stench filling her senses, and she felt her stomach turn with nausea. Mortius was slowly choking her, and she could feel the creeping blackness of unconsciousness crawling at the edges of her awareness.

In desperation, she turned her attention back to Mortius. She had to get free before she blacked out! Hammering her fists desperately against his sinewy arm, she redoubled her furious but ineffective kicking, her erratic movements causing her to swing dangerously in Mortius' grasp. Still, his grip did not falter, and she might as well have been pounding her fists against stone for all the good it did her.

Then, surprisingly, as if he were reconsidering killing her, Mortius began to draw her back toward him, his grip loosening, and his head cocking slightly as he did so.

"Perhaps Pelion was not so wrong about you as I thought," he said quietly, almost to himself, as if he were studying her. "Maybe you are not entirely worthless. _Maybe_ you could be of use to our Lord after all."

Despite his hand clenched around her throat, Callisto still managed to spit defiantly into his eye.

"That's what I think of you and your 'Lord'!" she managed to sneer out around his vice like grip.

Mortius lifted a hand to his face, wiping away the globule of saliva with his free hand, and flicking it to one side with a tired, disdainful sigh.

"I guess that means we'll never know then, will we?" he said, and with the that, Callisto felt the muscles in his arm tense as he hurled her away from him.

Suddenly free from his grasp, she arced out backward over the lake, her arms and legs pinwheeling wildly against the empty air. For a single dreadful moment, she seemed to hang at the apex of her flight, the world around her almost perfectly still, standing in stark contrast to the rage still burning inside her. Then, with a singular cry of pure, impotent fury, she plummeted, the Pneuma rushing up to meet her like the gateway to Tartarus itself.

The surface of the lake was hard and unyielding, and the impact drove what little air was left in her lungs rushing out of her. She gasped, winded, and the moment her mouth was open, she felt the filthy glass like liquid close over her head, filling her mouth and nostrils with a strange cloying taste. Even submerged beneath the surface as she was, somewhere at the corners of hearing, that dark mocking laughter that had taunted her for so long sounded again, clear, sharp and strong.

Her final thoughts before impenetrable darkness overwhelmed her were of Leonidas, and of how badly she had failed.

* * *

Ithius cursed loudly when he banged his head for what seemed like the hundredth time as he descended through the tunnel. The ride out of the city had been simpler, if a touch slower, than he had expected. He had only needed to make a few short detours to slip through the enclosing net of Demosthenes' men as they moved through the city, tracking down any Helots who had not already fled as they went. Once he was beyond the city walls and out of Helot Town, he had made better time. The open countryside had been emptied of Spartan patrols by Demosthenes' little purge, and it had not taken him long to reach the lands that had once belonged to Soriacles.

He had only been out to Soriacles' farm on a couple of occasions, but he remembered the landscape well, and had already figured out that the most likely location for the tomb would be somewhere in the forest that bordered his fields, and that also backed onto the foothills of the mountains less than a mile away.

The dead bodies littering a small clearing around the mouth of a cave not that deep into the forest itself had been more than ample evidence of Callisto's passing. Judging by the footprints in the dirt around the cave mouth, three people had gone into the cave following the fight, but as of yet, no one had come back out. He had not hesitated in following them in. There was too much at stake now for him To turn back. Not only was the fate of his own people hanging in the balance, but if Monocles were to be believed, the fate of all of Greece as well.

He had been stymied for a brief moment when the tunnel had split into two, but a strange, noxious odour hanging in the air had made his decision for him. At every junction or split in the tunnel, he could smell it, and it had led him, deeper and deeper below the earth, until now as he rounded a final corner in the tunnel and was faced with a large ragged hole cut through the tunnel wall and into a vast chamber beyond.

Cautiously, he stepped through, the torch he was carrying to light his way extended in front of him. At the same time he reached back, unlimbering his sword and clutching it one handed. Like Callisto had doubtless been before him, he was confronted with a huge open cavern lit by flickering torchlight, and filled with marble Grecian pillars and Spartan statuary. It did not take him long to see that something had gone terribly wrong though. Toward the centre of the chamber, there lay a body, clad in the same crimson robes as the bodies at the tunnel entrance. They were the same robes as those worn by the Followers. Maybe Callisto and Monocles had been right after all. A foot or so away from the body lay what he assumed to be that same body's head, cleaved neatly at the neck by something long, thin and razor sharp.

He clutched his sword tighter, eyeing the shadows warily as he stepped out onto the tomb's main floor. All around him was still and silence.

He stepped up to the body, nudging the head over gently with the toe of his boot. It rolled to one side, revealing a face that, thankfully, he did not recognise. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. What had happened here? He had matched blades with Callisto, and this beheading was not her style. Something about it was too neat, too passionless and surgical, and almost certainly too quick. If Callisto were to kill someone, he knew that she would relish it a lot more and that the victim would be a lot longer in their dying.

He glanced around looking for any further signs of what had taken place, and was surprised to see Monocles' mercenary assistant slumped against a pillar a little further down the line columns toward a large stone platform. Athelis, he believed the man's name was. Like the rest of the chamber, he was still and unmoving, his head lolling forward so that his chin met his chest.

Ithius crossed to him hurriedly, placing his sword to one side as he checked for a pulse. Athelis' response was to groan, as if awakening from a month long drinking binge.

"Do you have to paw at me like that?" he moaned without opening his eyes. "Your hands are cold."

Ithius breathed a sigh of relief and bent to retrieve his sword.

"What happened here?" he asked as the other man opened his eyes blearily. "Where's Callistio?"

"Here?" Athelis said, his words schlurred and groggy. "Where's here?"

Slowly he looked to either side of him, taking in his surroundings through a fog of semi consciousness.

Suddenly, a look of horrified recollection spread across his face, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as he did his best to struggle to his feet.

"Callisto!" he gasped, swaying dizzily as he managed to get upright, even having to go so far as to reach out a hand to steady himself against the pillar he had been slumped against. His eyes darted wildly around the chamber "She was... we were..."

He rounded on Ithius sharply.

"Where is she!?" he demanded.

Ithius rolled his eyes, doing his best to stay patient. Already this was taking too long.

"That's what I'm asking you," he said. "I tracked you both here to try and find her. You don't know where she is either?"

"I don't..." Athelis began, then stopped short, a dark frown spreading across his face, his eyes seeing but not really looking as he tried to remember what had happened. "We were fighting... something... I can't..."

Slowly he looked up to meet Ithius' patient gaze.

"...A monster," he finished, a note of dread tinging his voice. "We were fighting a monster."

Ithius cocked an eyebrow at him doubtfully.

"A monster?" he said. "Here?"

Athelis fixed Ithius with a steady glare.

"Dark cave, creepy torchlight, lots of shadows," he said scornfully, motioning to the chamber around them. "Looks like just the place to meet monsters to me."

Ithius turned away, doing his best to ignore the other man's sarcasm.

"Are you always this unhelpful?" he asked, lifting his torch to extend the circle of light wider around them as he peered out into dim flickering torchlight all about them, searching for that familiar blonde head of hair. Still he could see no trace of her.

"I'm a mercenary," Athelis replied matter-of-factly. "People usually pay for my aid. I'm not used to giving it freely."

Ithius span to face the other man, his patience beginning to ware dangerously thin.

"We don't have time for your attitude!" he snapped. "Tell me what happened here!"

"I already did!" Athelis snapped right back at him. "We were fighting a monster! Some _thing _ out of the Followers' temple. We fought it there last night as well. It looks like a man, but it moves in the shadows like some kind of... I don't know... Like a ghost I suppose."

"The Followers?" Ithius frowned. If everything Monocles had told him was true, it would certainly make sense for them to be involved here. But a monster...

"Why didn't you tell Leonidas any of this?" he asked.

"Callisto tried," Athelis replied. "But he was a little bit distracted at the time, what with a pending Persian invasion and being stabbed in the back by his best friend into the bargain."

Ithius stiffened at that, and Athelis gave him a derisive nod.

"That's right," he sneered. "I remember who you are. What do you even want to find Callisto for? If I recall correctly, didn't she threaten to gut you if she ever saw you again?"

Ithius turned away with another heavy sigh.

"It was 'cut your heart out and feed it to the crows' actually," he replied, beginning to walk up the length of the chamber, sweeping his torch back and forth to try and cast as much light as he could into the chambers' shadowed corners, "and I was kind of hoping she might have gotten over that by now."

Behind him he heard Athelis give a dark chuckle.

"In half a day!?" he said incredulously. "Are we even thinking of the same woman here? She's not exactly good at letting go of grudges. Just ask Xena."

"If I ever meet her, I'll be sure to do just that," Ithius replied distractedly.

In truth, he had not really given much thought to what he would say when he found Callisto. He had just decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. Now that Athelis had reminded him of it though, he could feel a knot of tension in his stomach. It was not really the physical threat of her that he feared. Not that much anyway. He had beaten her once, and was reasonably sure he could do so again. She was more predictable than she liked to admit. Her rage made her so. No, it was more the idea of her as an enemy that unnerved him. She had proved, on more than one occasion, that she was bloodthirsty and relentless when she set her mind to something, and the idea of having someone like that devoting themselves to trying to make him suffer was enough to give even Ithius pause.

He frowned. Up ahead of them was a raised stone platform, with some kind of sarcophagus placed upon it.

"The tomb of Lycurgus," Athelis said, stepping up beside him. "At least we were pretty sure that's what it is. We were just getting ready to leave when that _thing_ attacked us."

"What's that?" Ithius asked, motioning with his torch toward the strange yellow light coming from just beyond it.

"A lake," Athelis said.

"That glows?" Ithius replied.

"Callisto said it was Pneuma," Athelis explained. "Some weird stuff used by the Oracles."

Ithius' frown deepened and he began to make his way across the chamber. Something about that sickly yellow glow unnerved him tremendously. Athelis followed close behind him, eyeing the shadows warily as he went.

"We should be getting out of here," he said, and for the first time, Ithius could hear a trace of nervousness in the other man's voice.

"Not until we find out what happened to Callisto," he replied firmly.

Athelis glanced back over his shoulder toward the ragged hole in the wall they had had to enter through, then looked back to Ithius and nodded resolutely. His face was still a fearful pale though.

"You never answered my question before," he said, trying to brush aside his moment's hesitation. "Why are you suddenly looking for Callisto?"

"Because I need her help," Ithius said quietly. "We – the Helots I mean – have all been betrayed."

"Well fancy that," Athelis said sarcastically.

Ithius rounded on him angrily.

"Now is not the time for sarcasm!" he snarled reaching out to snare the other man angrily by his jerkin. "My people are dying! Demosthenes and his soldiers are wiping them out to the very last man, woman and child! I'm going to need Callisto and Leonidas' help if I'm to stand any chance of stopping it"

"Maybe your people deserved it," Athelis sneered back at him. "Did you ever consider that? They didn't want to pay the real cost of freedom; cowards to a man, each and every one of them, and now they are reaping the rewards."

Ithius shoved him away, incensed by the other man's words.

"You can't honestly believe that..." he said incredulously.

"I think there's always a price to pay," Athelis replied tightly. "You try and cheat on it, and nasty people come knocking at your door."

"You've had those nasty people at your door I take it?" Ithius sneered at him.

"I'm the one doing the knocking," Athelis replied bluntly.

Ithius turned away from him in disgust. What was he doing down here, in the dark, with this sneering husk of a man? Helots were being murdered by the score and here he was playing at adventurer! He needed to be doing something – anything – besides this...

Pausing, he took a deep breath to calm himself and then glanced back over his shoulder at Athelis. The mercenary was watching him steadily.

"Let's just find her," he said. "The sooner we do, the sooner we can be out of here."

He did not wait for Athelis' reply. Instead, he strode off up the tomb's main floor, mounting the steps that ran up to the stone platform and making his way quickly across it to get a better look at the lake Athelis had been talking about.

The moment he caught sight of it, he froze. A familiar figure was floating on the tide of Pneuma not far away. He'd found Callisto.

She was bobbing on the surface of the lake, her face up turned toward the distant roof overhead, her eyes closed and unseeing. Her hair, face and body were soaked in Pneuma; the thick yellow liquid shining nauseously in the dim torch light. Clearly she had been completely submerged in the stuff, only to drift back to the surface later. Ithius felt his heart sink at the sight of her. Her skin was a deathly pale, her expression flat and unreadable, her body completely motionless.

From this distance, he could not even tell if she was breathing.

"Callisto..." he heard Athelis breathe next to him. Ithius turned to regard the mercenary. Had he really just heard a note of concern in his voice?

"Well?" Athelis continued, the note of worry still edging his tone as he turned to look Ithius in the eye. "We've found her. Now how do we get her out of there?"

"Over there," Ithius said pointing to their left and toward a small ferry attached to a guide rope that ran across the surface of the lake and over to a distant lump of misshapen stone. "We use that."

The two of them moved quickly. Ithius clambering down into the ferry and slicing the guide rope loose in a single clean cut of his sword. Holding on to his end of the severed rope, he handed the other end up to Athelis, who in turn used it to walk the small boat along the edge of the ledge above.

As Ithius drew near to where Callisto floated, he motioned to Athelis to stop, then, still holding his end of the rope, he braced his arm against the cold stone wall that ran up to the platform above and shoved hard, sending the boat drifting out over the lake in Callisto's direction. Even now, from so near a distance, he still could not tell if she were alive or dead. Tugging on the rope, he felt Athelis do the same at the other end, and the boat came to gentle stop, just within arms reach of Callisto's prostrate form. Being careful not to drop the rope, he tied it off against the boat's aft mooring hook, and squatted down low at the boats edge. Cautiously, he braced his hands against the wooden rim that marked the boat's edge and leaned out over the Pneuma. The wood creaked and the boat rolled gently beneath him. The stench of the sickly yellow lake filled his senses, making him sway dizzyingly, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he thought the small boat was going to capsize and dump him face first into the mire.

Clenching his jaws together, his stomach muscles tensed as he leaned still further out, praying for the boat to remain steady. Callisto was only just within reach, and with a deep breath, he managed to snare her by one of her leather shoulder guards to drag her closer to the boat so that he could get a better grip on her. As he reached beneath her arms, the Pneuma closed slickly around his hands, and he could barely suppress an involuntary shudder at the feel of it. The yellow liquid was warm and clammy, almost like human flesh coated in stale sweat, and the longer his hands were immersed in it, the more he could feel his fingers beginning to tingle.

Doing his best to ignore the strange sensation, he heaved Callisto – worryingly limp and unresisting – into the boat. Even with her slim build, he still found himself somewhat surprised by how little she actually weighed. It was as if the Pneuma itself had stolen something from her.

As he lowered her into the bottom of the boat, he pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling for the telltale pulse of blood in her veins. For a moment all was stillness, and then he felt it, a slight murmur almost beyond sensation. He sat back on his haunches, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so.

"How is she?" he heard Athelis call out to him from across the lake.

"Alive!" Ithius shouted back, "But just barely. I don't know what this stuff did to her, but it's not good! We should..."

A faint groan from behind him cut Ithius short. He twisted on his haunches to see Callisto stirring, her eyes flitting back and forth beneath closed lids.

"What is it?" Athelis called to him. "What's going on?"

Ithius held up a hand for silence, then turned, moving quickly to crouch by her side.

"Callisto?" he said, softly, as if speaking to someone waking from sleep.

At the sound of his voice, her eyes flashed open, blazing furiously, and like a striking snake, she was on him, her fingers curled into vicious hooks as she drove him back into the bottom of the boat, closing her hands around his throat in an attempt to throttle him.

"YOU!" she snarled at him, her breath coming in tight, rapid grunts and her eyes shining bright with mania as she squeezed his throat tightly. Ithius choked hard, still caught by surprise by her sudden attack.

"I failed!" she continued, her voice both furious, and on the cusp of misery. "We all did! And it's all because of you!"

Ithius' hands reached for hers, his fingers clawing desperately at his throat as he attempted to peel her steel grip loose, but it was no good. She seemed intent on wringing the life out of him, and a thick grey fog seemed to be settling at the edges of his consciousness as his lungs ached for relief.

"Now he'll die," Callisto was hissing, digging her thumbs hard into his windpipe. "They all will! And the dead... Even the dead aren't safe! Leonidas! Atrix! Silas! My family! None of them! He'll be free and then... and then..."

Suddenly her eyes widened, a look of stark terror lighting in them and she collapsed back away from him, her hands releasing his throat as if it were red hot steel.

Ithius gasped for air, momentarily managing to forget the wretched fetid stink all about him as he gulped down huge lungfuls, his chest heaving with each fresh inhale. Slowly he managed to pull himself back upright, rubbing tenderly at his throat as he eyed Callisto.

She was slumped back against the boats prow now, her breathing becoming more laboured, as she stared past him into the gloom of the chamber.

"Callisto..." Ithius tried again, saying her name as softly and gently as he could manage. Her eyes shifted back to him, slower this time, and when they met his, there was no recognition in them. It was as if she were staring at a stranger.

"She's coming..." she managed between heavy struggling breaths. "...coming now... and I can't... can't fight any..."

Her eyelids fluttered, and Ithius could tell she was drifting back into unconsciousness.

"...anymore..." she continued, her head beginning to sag as if it weighed a great deal more than her neck could support. "...tired now... so very tired... and scared..."

Ithius moved cautiously to her side, reaching out a hand to brush tenderly against her arm. She shifted, the way sleeping people do when they are disturbed in a fitful sleep.

"...mama..." she murmured quietly, "...why's it so dark... didn't mean to steal the fruit... please... make it... make it... light again..."

And then her head, slumped forward, her eyes finally drifting closed again as her breaths became long but shallow. Tentatively, Ithius reached out for her neck again. Once again the pulse was there, feeble, but regular. He let out another low breath, then turned back to the guide rope, unfastening it and giving it a tug for Athelis to bring to him back to the shore.

It took less than a minute for Athelis to reel he and Callisto back in, the boat bumping softly against the stone ledge with a soft wooden thud.

Ithius grabbed Callisto and hoisted her across his shoulder, straightening carefully in the boat as he did so. As with when he had pulled her out of the Pneuma, she was completely limp, the only sign that she was alive being the slight rise and fall of her chest.

"Give me a hand will you," he said, lifting Callisto up toward Athelis.

"What happened back there?" The other man asked, leaning down from the platform above and taking her beneath the arms. With surprising tenderness, he hoisted her way from Ithius, and up onto the platform. Now free to use his hands, Ithius reached up, grabbing the rim of the ledge above and pulling himself up after her, his feet scrabbling against the stone wall for better purchase as he went.

"Oh nothing," he said as he heaved himself up onto the ledge to kneel next to Athelis who was in turn leaning over Callisto, a concerned frown etched across his forehead. "I pulled her out of the Pneuma, she tried to strangle me, you know, the way people always do to one another."

Athelis glanced at him.

"Not forgiven you then yet?" he said sarcastically.

Ithius rubbed at his throat, and swallowed tenderly.

"Apparently not," he said.

Athelis snorted and turned his attention back to Callisto.

"What do you think's wrong with her?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Ithius admitted, his frown of concern now matching Athelis' as he looked down at Callisto. She was still slick with the Pneuma and her eyes were flicking rapidly back and forth beneath her eyelids.

Athelis leaned in close to her, and Ithius placed a warning hand on the other man's shoulder.

"I'd be careful if I were you," he said. "Unless you _want_ her to throttle you."

Athelis glanced back at him, then shrugged.

"I'm not the one she threatened to kill," he said, and reached out to her face, peeling back her eyelid gently with his thumb.

Her eye did not stop moving, darting wildly left and right, the pupils huge and badly dilated. With a low grunt, he released the eyelid, leaving the eye to snap shut again as he reached out to check the second one. The result was much the same as the first.

"We need to get her to a healer," he said emphatically. "There must be someone back at the city who can..." he trailed off as he noticed Ithius shaking his head at him.

"What?" he demanded indignantly.

"We'll never get back to the city," Ithius said. "I'm a wanted man now, and the Ephors and Demosthenes are still after her for the death of the Persian Ambassador, not to mention the fact that most of the Inner City healers would be Spartans, and any trained Helot healers, Demosthenes will already be hunting down and trying to kill."

"So remind me again what exactly your plan was in the first place," Athelis snapped back. "How were you intending on getting the Spartans to help Leonidas if you didn't even think you could get back into..."

"I DON'T KNOW!" Ithius shouted at the other man, the despair that had been growing inside him ever since he had come here finally beginning to get the better of him. "I have no idea, alright! I hadn't thought that far ahead. First and foremost, I was trying to find her, and now I have, and she's..."

He gestured toward her prostrate figure sadly.

"...I mean... look at her," was all he could think of to say, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"So that's it then?" Athelis replied, "You're giving up?"

"What else would you have me do!?" Ithius snapped at him. "It's over! Your Follower's have won! My people are being massacred in droves, and Leonidas, the one man who could have stopped it is, at this very minute, marching to his doom, and all because of me! Meanwhile the only person who seems to know exactly who these people even are, what they want or how to deal with them, is lying unconscious on the floor in front of me! You'll excuse me if I haven't exactly planned for this particular set of circumstances."

Athelis just squatted beside Callisto, regarding Ithius evenly as he did so.

"So what should we do then?" He asked as Ithius' tirade finally subsided.

Ithius glanced at him, then fixed his eyes on Callisto. She had known so much of what was going on; the truth behind the schemes in Sparta, and it seemed that these Followers were lurking at the heart of it all, like a dark and sinister spider, waiting at the fringes of its web to crawl in and suck the life out of those they snared.

Years ago, when he had trained with Leonidas for battle, he remembered the classes and lectures on military doctrine and strategic thinking that Leonidas' father had subjected them both to. He had been told then that to know your enemy, or even indeed your friend, was the key to being able to predict them, and, if necessary, defeat them. Try as he might though, he still could not figure these 'Followers' out. Apparently they wanted to free Cronus, but to do so, they needed to start a war. Not the war between Spartans and Persians as they had originally suspected, but instead a war that would pit Greek against Greek... Except everything they did seemed to indicate the opposite? Monocles had been convinced of this though. The question remained of how they even planned to do it? What was their next move?

He gave a frustrated grunt. He just did not know enough, and the one person who might have been able to help him was now seemingly comatose less than a few feet away. Without that knowledge, without _her_ knowledge, or even the knowledge of Leonidas to help guide his actions, he felt lost and adrift; aimless and with no real direction to be heading in.

He let out another deep sigh and reached down to Callisto, then, straightening and slinging her gently across his shoulders, he turned and began to make for the exit. He would think of something. He _had _to think of something. Just not here, and not now.

"First of all," he said, "we get out of here. This place is starting to make me feel uncomfortable."

He meant it too. The shadows around the chamber were beginning to lengthen eerily as one by one, the torches around the tomb seemed to be guttering and dying, while on the surface above, day was no doubt beginning to creep toward night.

"And after that?" Athelis asked, falling into step beside him, a strange notched dagger appearing in his hand as he eyed the shadows warily.

"After that?" Ithius responded, answering the other man's question with a rhetorical one of his own.

"After that, we pray to whatever gods will listen to us for a miracle..." he continued as he reached the ragged hole in the wall through which he had entered earlier. Slowly, he turned to take in the tomb of Lycurgus one last time. The eerie yellow glow of the Pneuma glared back at him starkly in the dim light, and he suddenly became keenly aware of Callisto's dead weight pressing down against his shoulder.

"...because I think a miracle is exactly what we're going to need," he finished.


	21. Chapter Twenty: Soul, Strength and Faith

**Chapter Twenty: Soul, Strength and Faith**

Sentos was sagging wearily in his saddle by the time he rounded the final street corner, and the city's council chambers loomed hard against a dull grey afternoon sky. His horse whinnied softly at the sight of the stark, imposing building, and he patted its neck in a soothing manner.

"Come on girl," he said. "Just a little further now." The animal snorted in response and moved forward at an exhausted plodding trot, it's bone numbing fatigue a mirror of his own.

The ride back to the city from Thermopylae had been taxing, a restless headlong charge north, but Leonidas had ordered him to make all speed to inform the Ephors of the events that had taken place there. As the dull clip-clop of hooves echoed off the buildings, more memories of Leonidas came flooding back to him. His King had been lying wounded atop a blanket beside a roaring camp fire, his brow soaked with sweat despite the chill of the night air as he gripped imploringly at Sentos' arm, and even the recollection of it still made the Spartan captain want to weep.

Had he had the choice he would never have returned. He would have remained at the Hot Gates, along side his comrades in arms, closer than brothers to him, and faced the Persian horde that had descended on them. He would have fought to his last breath if his King had not ordered him away. That order_ had_ been given though, and he had had little choice but to obey. He was a Spartan after all, and in the end, was duty not more important than his own personal glory. Thermopylae would be remembered, of that he was certain. Songs would be sung, and tales would be told in the grandest Spartan tradition, but Sentos himself would not be a part of them. Instead, wounded as he was, and of little use in actual battle, the role of messenger had fallen to him.

The ache in his thigh throbbed in tandem with the ache of misery in his gut, and he glanced down at the nasty horizontal slash that had cut across his thigh. Held together with thick, ugly strands of twine, the wound was beginning to mend, but slowly, and he doubted he would ever be able to place his weight fully on the leg again.

With a disgusted grunt, he reined in his horse before the council chambers. What use was a lame warrior to anyone? When the time came for him to be remembered after he had crossed the Styx, what would people see in their mind's eye? Sentos the first captain to King Leonidas? Sentos the great warrior who had stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the brave three hundred at Thermopylae? Or would they instead remember him for what he would soon be? Sentos, the limping, shambling figure, who had lived far beyond his usefulness?

He sat astride his horse like that for a little longer, lost in his own thoughts, until eventually the animal stirred and he looked about himself curiously. Normally there would be Helot attendants already emerging from the outer chambers, ready to take his horse and gear from him. Today though, there was no one. Not entirely sure what was going on, he dismounted from the animal, wincing as he was forced to place his weight on his wounded leg. He gripped the animal's bridle, doing his best to maintain his balance as he steadied himself, then turned to look around once more. Still nothing moved.

Now he was thinking about it, he remembered the long ride through Helot town, and how strangely quiet that had seemed as well. The usual crowds of people going about their daily business had been entirely absent, and the only people he had been able to catch sight of were members of that odd religious order that had been growing in popularity of late.

"Hello?" he called loudly, his voice echoing off the stone. "I seek an audience with the Ephors. Is there no one to attend me?"

At first there was no answer, and Sentos was about to stride off up the steps to the enter the council hall himself, armed or no, when the front doors to the building opened to meet him instead.

A young soldier, dressed in the blue cloak of one of Demosthenes' men emerged, hurrying quickly across the open ground toward him.

"Finally!" Sentos sighed, "Someone to..."

The man waved his hand in a chopping motion that indicated for him to be silent.

"You should leave," he hissed cautiously as he drew nearer. "Right now, before anyone sees you!"

Sentos squared his shoulders, incensed at the lesser ranked man's attempts to give him orders.

"I will do no such thing," he replied. "Not until I have spoken with the Ephors and relayed..."

"Just stop!" the man cut him off sharply. "King Demosthenes already knows you're coming. He even knows what news you bring, though I don't know how. He wants you in there, so that he can use you against them."

"Them?" Sentos said, bewildered by the man's words. What in Tartarus was going on, and what was this Spartan jabbering about? He had not journeyed all this way to be met only with riddles and nonsense.

"The Ephors," the man replied. "A lot has changed since you departed captain, and none of it for the better. Please just go, before you are..."

"Orestes!" called another voice from the doors, and the Spartan in front of him sagged slightly.

"...seen," Orestes muttered under his breath, before turning to face the heavy set soldier standing at the council doors.

"What are you playing at?" The man shouted at him. "You were sent to fetch Captain Sentos, not stand there gossiping like some old tavern maid."

"I was just bringing him now Captain Gracus," Orestes said, his voice deferential and respectful, but with an odd hint of tension around its edges.

"Well be quick about it," Gracus replied. "The proceedings are about to begin, and King Demosthenes wants him present before they do. You've already failed our King once this week, and he was lenient then. Another failure would be a further black mark against your name, and I doubt he would be so forgiving a second time."

With that, the big man, Gracus, turned and stalked off back into the building, leaving Orestes to curse softly under his breath. He cast a glance back over his shoulder at Sentos.

"You should have left while you had the chance," he said before stalking off toward the waiting double doors.

"Now..." he shook his head regretfully, "...now I don't know what's going to happen."

"I don't understand," Sentos said, moving as quickly as he could to catch up with the younger man, the wound in his leg complaining bitterly at such rough treatment. "What's going on? Why are there no Helot attendees? Why are you trying to disobey your King's orders?"

Orestes stopped and turned to face him again.

"Have you ever been frightened?" He asked unexpectedly.

"I am a Spartan," Sentos replied defensively, his back turning rigid at the strange question. "I have learned to control my fears since I was a small boy."

"That wasn't what I asked," Orestes said.

"I have felt fear many times," Sentos said impatiently. "But never to such a degree that it has impacted my ability to do my duty."

"Then all I can say is, you're very lucky," Orestes replied, "because right now, I'm so terrified, I want to run screaming for the hills."

With that, he span on his heel and began to march back toward the council chambers, Sentos falling in close behind.

As he entered he moved to hand the sword buckled to his side to one of the guards lining the entry passage, but the man waved him away. Sentos frowned darkly. Carrying weapons on the council floor was only allowed when the Ephors were to sit in judgement of the most heinous and violent criminals. Captured warlords and the worst of the city's violent criminals were the usual sort, and for a moment he wondered if Demosthenes had managed to capture Callisto. He had not quite understood King Leonidas' fascination with the woman, or the lengths to which he had gone to protect her from facing Spartan justice, but it was not his place to question the orders of his King. His duty was only to follow them, no matter what they were.

His idea of this being about Callisto was dashed almost immediately as he stepped out onto the council chamber floor. Instead of seeing the familiar form of the blonde warrior woman standing bound and awaiting a sentence at the centre of the council floor as he had expected, he was stunned to see King Demosthenes himself standing there, unbound, but no less on trial. He was surrounded by a circle of guards in blue cloaks, apparently assigned to guard him should he attempt to escape. Their leader was the heavy set Spartan Sentos had first spied only minutes before by the name of Gracus. Seated all about the rows of stone benches were more of Demosthenes' own men, all armed as was the custom for the trial of violent individuals. A smaller contingent of soldiers, this time wearing the red cloaks of Leonidas' soldiers that matched Sentos' own, stood attendance to the Ephors, their spears held sharpened and ready. Even the Ephors themselves were armed, their ceremonial daggers lying unsheathed in their laps, rather than hidden within the folds of their robes.

Sentos suddenly felt uneasy, although he was uncertain as to why. Perhaps it was the air of tension that stretched across the chamber tighter than a drum skin, or maybe it was the almost complete absence of the red cloaked soldiers of Leonidas. Beside himself and the few men guarding the Ephors, there were perhaps only ten or so more present; a tiny number when set against the two hundred or so of Demosthenes men. Those ten were seated around Leonidas' unoccupied throne, and all of them were watching the stands around them warily.

The sight of the empty throne stirred the guilt in the pit of Sentos' stomach, but he did his best to ignore it. He still had his duty to perform and he could not afford to be distracted now.

"Captain Sentos," the oldest Ephor by the name of Nestus said, standing and gesturing to the floor in front of him. "You bring us word from your King's ill considered foray at Thermopylae I understand."

Sentos stepped forward until he stood separate from either Orestes or Demosthenes, a quiet but surprised series of murmurs echoing down from the stands at the sight of him. Sentos could hardly blame them for it. His read cloak was torn and travel stained, his armour dented and covered in dust and bloodstains. He had not stopped in his head long dash North to collect himself. The news he carried was too grave, and the time too short.

"I do," he said, unsure of any formal method of address, having never spoken on the council floor before. "I beg the council's leave to speak."

"You need not beg of us my friend," Nestus replied. "We do not approve of your King's decisions, but you were only doing you duty to him by carrying them out."

"Duty," he heard Demosthenes sneer angrily at that. "What would any of you know of duty!"

"Not a word from you!" Nestus snapped, whirling on the spot to point furiously at Spartan King, his ire sudden and fierce. "We will get to you in due time, then you will have the chance to say your peace. Until then though, you will conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum and be silent!

Sentos watched as Demosthenes gave a slight nod, as if he were granting them a favour rather than following an instruction. He did not speak again however. Instead his back straightened and he lifted his chin imperiously. Nestus' response was to glare at him. Demosthenes did not even seem to notice. Eventually the old Ephor turned his attention back to Sentos, and with seemingly great effort, managed to force an encouraging smile across his face.

"We would gladly hear any news that you bring us," he said earnestly. "What has transpired at Thermopylae, and what has become of Leonidas?"

Sentos could not help but notice the absence of Leonidas' title when the old Ephor spoke. It was an omission that made him bristle at the blatant disrespect on display. Nestus and the others may have been Ephors, but Leonidas_ was_ a King of Sparta. It was a position he had been born to, not a title he had been awarded, and nothing could strip that position from him. To speak of him as if he were anything less, as if he were just some common soldier, as Nestus had just done, was the height of insult. Sentos was not the only one in the room to take umbrage either. A low rumble of discontent ran through the assembled Spartans, and, strangely enough, the first hints of a smile began to tug at the corners of Demosthenes' mouth.

Frustrated, angry and confused as he was by everything going on around him, Sentos was not exactly sure how to continue. He stood in silence for a moment while nearby, some members of the audience he seemed to have unexpectedly acquired stirred uncomfortably.

Summoning up his courage, he took a deep breath and began to relay his tale as best as he could manage.

"We arrived at the Hot Gates after a hard day and night's march," he began. "The evening before our arrival, we made camp with the Athenian forces Leonidas had managed to secure an alliance with before our departure..."

Nearby, Demosthenes gave a disgusted snort, but remained silent. Sentos glanced at him curiously but did not allow the distraction to stop him.

"King Leonidas ordered us into the pass there at daybreak. We had our first encounter with the Persian forces not long after that."

Nestus lifted a hand to his beard, stroking it thoughtfully as he listened.

"Go on," he urged.

"For the first day, King Leonidas' strategy proved sound," Sentos said. He could still remember the feelings of exultation he had had, watching the Persians throw themselves at the Spartan line in wave after wave, only to crash futilely against their shields and spears like breakers against a cliff face. "The Persian forces were unable to break our lines, and the pass was held. The Athenians set traps and ambushes, staging hit and run raids in an attempt to thin the Persian numbers still further."

"If all was going so well, then why have only you returned?" Nestus asked, his voice filled with concern.

That same concern was echoed in the quiet whispers that went up from the Spartans gathered around the chamber. Sentos swallowed. His tongue seemed to fill his mouth more than usual and his throat had run bone dry as the memories began to turn painful.

"The second day, we did not fare so well," he said thickly. "In the morning we got word that Xerxes' elite, the Immortals, were taking to the field. A thousand of his best trained warriors marched against us as the sun rose. The Athenians were nervous about them, and many of the local farmers and fisherman who had sided with us fled when the news came down. A few remained however, willing to die to protect their lands and families."

"And..." Nestus prompted him.

"We held to the pass. Leonidas refused to be drawn out by their presence, despite the perhaps ill considered advice of some of his officers." Sentos remembered the heated discussions well. He had wanted to break from the pass, to meet the Immortals on the open field and scatter them, believing that to do so would have shattered Persian morale in turn. Leonidas had stuck doggedly to the battle plan, refusing to let recklessness draw him from their apparently unassailable position in the pass.

"_The first day has given us confidence,"_ Sentos remembered him saying_ "but even the cliffs by the sea give way to the ocean given enough time. Our men are already tired, and there is still no end in sight..."_

His words had given Sentos pause then, and they continued to do so even now. There was indeed, still no end in sight.

"The Immortals were on us by mid morning," he continued eventually. "We stopped their advance dead in its tracks, as we had all the others, but our casualties were beginning to mount. Our line was becoming too thin, too stretched, and the Persians just kept coming. By mid afternoon, we no longer had enough men fit for battle to hold the entire pass. That was when the news came down that Xerxes himself had come out to face us."

Nestus and Demosthenes both stiffened at that. Strangely, it was Demosthenes who seemed worried, while Nestus seemed positively elated by the news.

"You engaged him in combat?" the old Ephor asked, trying to hide the anticipation in his voice. Sentos nodded.

"King Leonidas asked the Athenians to join us in a full charge into the Persian ranks. We would be the vanguard, the spear tip thrusting for the head of the serpent, while the Athenians would be our shield." He paused still able to remember the heady stench of sweat and blood in the heat of the battle, and the way his spear and sword arm had ached at the shoulder from the constant fighting. It had been the heaviest combat he had ever seen, and for the first time in his life, Sentos had felt the fear of death begin to uncoil in the pit of his stomach. Even now, the shame of that memory almost drove him to silence.

"And you killed him?" Demosthenes interrupted, his voice tight and even, his lips a thin pale line as the blood drained from them.

Sentos shook his head.

"We did not. The attack was a failure. The Immortals came on us in the heat of the battle, their numbers as strong as they had been that morning, as if they had never even lost a man. Their assault was withering, and the Athenians broke before it..."

A grim smile spread across Demosthenes' face at that. Sentos was bewildered by the reaction. It almost seemed that the man was revelling at the news of their defeat, as if it were exactly what he had wanted to hear all along. Regardless, Sentos had been ordered to inform them of all that had happened, and so he pressed on, doing his best to put the discomfort Demosthenes was causing him to one side.

"...As the Athenians will to fight failed, the battle began to turn against us," he continued flatly, reliving each terrible moment with crystal clarity in his mind's eye. "Leonidas led us on bravely despite the odds we faced, and we were within a spear's throw of Xerxes himself…"

The room had fallen a deathly silent now, as all waited with bated breath for his next words.

"...and that was when our King fell," he said, his voice cracking slightly at the memory. The room erupted in cries of both anguish and outrage. Nestus and the other Ephors glanced around the roaring hoard of Demosthenes' men uncomfortably, while Demosthenes himself looked on with a small, victorious smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

As the cries and anger began to die down, Sentos opened his mouth to speak again.

"The wound was grave, a sword thrust from an Immortal that took him through the side. At the time we thought it serious but not necessarily fatal. Still, it was clear that the battle was lost and we retired back to the pass, taking our King with us, and leaving theirs still drawing breath."

He sniffed slightly as he remembered the desperate rearguard they had fought as they had fallen back, the Immortals pressing hard upon their heels. It was then that he had taken the sword cut to the thigh that was beginning to throb mercilessly the longer he remained standing. He shifted his weight with a slight grimace of pain before continuing on.

"Upon our return to camp, we discovered the true extent of King Leonidas' injuries," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of misfortune he was about to pass on. "The wound was a mortal one, and even King Leonidas himself knew he would not survive the night. So, he gave what he considered his final orders. He said that the battle was lost, and commanded that the Athenians should withdraw while they still could, or else be utterly crushed by the Persians. He and the rest of his guard remained behind, to buy time for the Athenian retreat and to make the Persians pay dearly in blood and lives for every inch of ground they wished to take."

He paused glumly, his gaze dropping slowly to the floor in shame.

"I was ordered back to Sparta, the one voice that could relay what had taken place. I do not know what fate has befallen them since I departed."

"But I do," Demosthenes spoke up unexpectedly. Nestus shot him a silencing glare, but Demosthenes continued on regardless, turning to address the whole room. "Brave King Leonidas, and his noble three hundred, who so courageously rode out to face the enemies at our gates, are dead, betrayed to that fate by their own leaders, and now slaughtered to the very last man."

The assembled soldiers howled in dismay at the news, the room erupting in a cacophony of angry shouts and Sentos felt his stomach turn as the other man spoke. Was it really true? Was the last of Leonidas' three hundred men? We're the rest truly all dead?

"How do you know this?" he asked, forgetting the correct formalities of addressing a man of Demosthenes' rank. "I've come here straight from Thermopylae, without sleep or rest the entire time. News such as that could not have traveled ahead of me."

The Spartan King turned to face him, apparently not having noticed his lack of protocol.

"I have other..." he paused, as if searching for the words. "...Means," he said finally, and for a brief instant, Sentos thought he saw the lengthening shadows in the room flicker and twist unnaturally. Demosthenes was already turning back to the furious audience once more.

"Do not be overly saddened my friends!" he shouted up to them. "For their deaths have not been in vain! Xerxes' hordes have been shown the sheer force of the Spartan will for freedom, and even as we speak, they retreat, bloodied and battered to lick their wounds, and stare into a suddenly uncertain future."

The tone of the crowd changed gradually as he spoke, slowly beginning to fill with righteous cheers and shouted praise for Leonidas and his brave men. Out of the corner of his eye, Sentos noted Nestus and the Ephors shifting uncomfortably. They did not like what was happening here, and a strange churning feeling in his gut led Sentos to feel the same way. Something about all of this felt wrong... ugly... a mockery of grief, rather than a true reflection of it.

"Make no mistake though!" Demosthenes was continuing to shout over the cheering and roaring of the crowd, his own voice raising to a fever pitch. "Xerxes and his countless armies are not defeated. Leonidas' sacrifice has bought us only time, but no more than that. We must not waste what he has given us! We must seize it now, and with both hands if we are to forge..."

"SILENCE!" Nestus bellowed above the chaos, and the result was as if someone had thrown cold water over a hysterical mob. Slowly he began to descend the steps, his long robes rasping dryly against the cold stone floor. Demosthenes watched him approach, a narrow smile edging his face as Nestus drew to a halt in front of him.

The two stood in silence for a moment, and then Nestus lashed out, his hand catching Demosthenes across the jaw in a dismissive, back handed slap that cracked loudly in the sudden stillness. The smile never left Demosthenes' face, but his eyes turned cold and calculating.

The deathly hush continued to fill the room as Nestus drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height.

"This council did not give you permission to speak," he hissed icily.

"I no longer recognise this council's authority over me," Demosthenes replied.

"As you did not recognise it on the mustering fields?" Nestus said. Sentos frowned at that.

"What happened?" he whispered back over his shoulder to Orestes, but the other man gave a tight shake of his head, indicating for him to stay silent.

"I followed the laws of Sparta," Demosthenes' reply was firm and unwavering. "They were traitors to us and to our city. King Leonidas ordered them to war, and they disobeyed."

"Wanton butchery is not the law!" Nestus snapped, his voice cracking loudly. "They were not soldiers! Most were not even armed!"

"Spartan law is clear nevertheless," Demosthenes said. "Traitors must be executed, and as King, it was my blood born duty to issue that command."

Nestus took a deep, calming breath, but his hands were still clenched into fists at his sides.

"You are no King," he said, eyeing the bronze clasp at the other man's shoulder. "Leonidas was worth ten of you."

"And where is he now?" Demosthenes sneered back. "Dead, and gone, and by your order."

Nestus did not answer, instead turning his back on the other man and returning to his seat on the long bench among the other Ephors. Demosthenes watched him go, that same tight smile returning to his face.

Orestes crossed to Sentos' side as the Ephors deliberated.

"You should sit down," he said. "That leg looks painful."

"I'll manage," Sentos replied, but even as he spoke, he could feel the pain in his leg growing worse. He was not sure how much longer he could actually remain standing, even if he really wanted to.

"Pride for the sake of pride is worthless," Orestes said, proffering his shoulder to the larger man. "Let me help you."

Sentos gave a small nod, and let Orestes lead him to the benches beside Leonidas' empty throne.

"An inspiring tale, and well told by the way," Orestes whispered to him. "In its telling though, you may have just doomed us all."

Sentos frowned in confusion as the younger man helped him down to a seat.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

"Just that you may have given Demosthenes exactly what he wants, and for some of us, that's the last thing we wanted him to have," Orestes said.

Sentos shook his head in frustration.

"I don't understand any of this," he said. "What's happening here? Why is King Demosthenes on trial?"

Orestes glanced at him sideways.

"You think that's what this is?" he said softly, then turned and stared out over the crowd warily, his eyes finally coming to rest on Demosthenes himself. The King was watching the Ephors intently and did not appear to notice Orestes' sudden scrutiny.

"I don't blame you I suppose," the younger Spartan muttered, flicking his head toward the Ephors. "That's what they believe it is as well, more fool them."

Before Sentos had the chance to ask what he meant, Nestus was turning away from his colleagues and standing once more, his voice raised to address the entire chamber, even as he stared at down at Demosthenes with a look of utter disdain.

"Demosthenes of the Line of Akellus!" he announced loudly. "You have been brought before us here to stand and await judgement for the crimes of murder and defiance of the laws of Sparta. What do you have to say in your defence?"

"I reject your accusations!" Demosthenes shouted back and turned once more to appeal to the crowd around him. "These_ men – _if they can even be called such – claim I have broken the laws of Sparta! I have done no such thing! Indeed, I am the only man in this room to have upheld our most basic of tenets! Those who I ordered killed were traitors to us! To our city, and to our most sacred of beliefs! They defied a direct order, given to them by their rightful King, and in doing so, have cost that same King his life!"

A murmur of agreement went up in the stands, and slowly he began to build in volume as Demosthenes continued to speak.

"And yet there treachery was as nothing when compared to these men!" he sneered, whirling to point an accusing finger at the assembled Ephors. "These so called rulers, who, at every turn, have shown themselves to be cowards, unfit to hold their most honoured of titles!"

"You accuse us of treachery!?" Nestus replied, his voice filled with outright astonishment. The red cloaked soldiers at his back stiffened at that, their grips on their spears tightening, and Sentos instinctively reached for the hilt of his own sword. The atmosphere of the room was quickly descending toward violence.

"I do!" Demosthenes snapped back forcefully. He turned back to the crowd again, his tone now one of reasoned appeal. "If I have committed any crime, it is to have lain indolent for far too long! _That_ I will admit to being guilty of."

A chorus of denial echoed out of the crowd, but Demosthenes raised his hands in a calming gesture.

"It is true my friends... my Brothers, if I may call you that..."

Sentos felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise at that. He heard that term somewhere before, and again he thought of Leonidas, lying before the campfire, his life slowly ebbing away. He had told Sentos a strange tale that night; some crazy story of gods, monsters and the people who followed them. The captain had not believed it at the time, nor did he now. None of it could really be true... could it? His hand tightened around his sword hilt as the creeping feeling of wrongness he had had ever since he arrived outside finally began to overwhelm him. He could not tear his eyes away from Demosthenes though, so enraptured was he by the King's words.

"I sat idly by..." Demosthenes was continuing, "...as our law were subverted, our traditions defiled, as these men gave away all that it was to be Spartan on a silver platter! And all the while, better men than they or I, gave their very lives to defend it!"

The crowd of blue cloaked Spartans continued to roar in denial of his words, assuring him that he was being too harsh upon himself, that he had in fact done everything in his power to stop what had happened. Demosthenes accepted their words graciously, using them as fuel to carry him up to an almost fever pitch as he barrelled heedlessly onward.

"I watched as they allowed those Persian dogs to take liberties with our hospitality!" he cried. "I watched as they allowed them to accuse us of conspiracy and murder, and I did nothing! I watched as they surrendered us to those very same Persians, without consultation or question or even negotiation, and still I did nothing! I watched as brave, dead, King Leonidas marched to war on our behalf with only three hundred men to support him, and I continued to do nothing! But when it came to the Helots... when that final injustice was laid before me, and I watched these men, these oh so 'wise' leaders of ours, surrender not only our freedom to our enemies, but our very dignity to our slaves... I could stand it no more! All I did then was what any free thinking Spartan would have done in my place! I took it upon myself to defend us from the chaos that was and still is consuming the world around us!"

He took a deep breath, suddenly reining in his pitch, and when he spoke again, his voice was calmer, more earnest, almost appealing.

"I ask you now... no I beg of you now... to all do the same. The Persians will return, and when they do, they will sweep aside all armies that stand against them! We cannot afford to stand divided and now is not the time for half measures! Not just Sparta, but all of Greece will fall and fall soon if we do not act! Perhaps not to the Persians, but if not to them then doubtless to some other foreign power! We cannot count on others to save us! That was brave Leonidas' mistake. He trusted in outside influences, allegiances with other cities, wandering warlords and all to his ultimate ruin! We are not politicians! Ours is not the Athenian way of endless talk! We are soldiers, born and bred for one purpose; to fight! If others will not save us, we must take it upon ourselves to save them! Together as Spartans one and all, we can forge a new Greece! A stronger Greece! A Greece that will stand proud and mighty, not divided and fractious. I implore you all to heed me! Don't let the sacrifice of brave Leonidas be in vain! He has taught us that if we do not stand as one, we will fall as many! Let our legacy be the former, and not the latter!"

Finally, his speech drew to a close and he hung his head, no longer the proud defiant individual of minutes before, but instead a humble man awaiting his fate.

Sentos could not quite believe what he had just heard. What Demosthenes was proposing was insanity, and to invoke Leonidas' name in its defence made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle with anger. Was Demosthenes truly being serious? Did he really expect Sparta to launch a war of conquest against the other Greek city states so soon after the loss of three hundred men at Thermopylae? Did he honestly believe that such a strategy would unite Greece against the Persians? It was nothing short of madness!

"Pretty words," Nestus said, regarding the Spartan King steadily as he did so. "But in the end, they cannot excuse your abominable crimes. This council's judgement remains unswayed. You are guilty of the crimes you have been accused of, without a shadow of a doubt, and your punishment is as it always was..."

He nodded to the two guards in red cloaks flanking him, and the men descended the steps to the council floor, crossing to Demosthenes and seizing him roughly by the arms. Demosthenes did not resist, but the crowd began to stir restlessly.

"Take him away," the old Ephor ordered. "To the mustering fields where so many of his victims still lie, then execute him and leave his corpse among the Helots he so brutally massacred. Let them judge him on the banks of the Styx, as is only fitting."

The two men nodded tightly and turned with Demosthenes, beginning to frog march him out of the room as the crowd started to jeer down at them.

Suddenly, the line of blue cloaked soldiers led by Captain Gracus – the men Sentos had thought were set to guard Demosthenes – closed ranks and lifted their shields, their spears dropping into a striking position. They barred the red cloaked soldiers' path like a field of hardened wood and steel. The two soldiers escorting Demosthenes froze in their tracks, seemingly uncertain as to what they should do next.

"Stand aside Captain Gracus!" Nestus called to them angrily. "That is an order."

"You cannot command me," Gracus replied, then nodded toward Demosthenes. "Only my King can do that."

A rumble of approval went up from the audience, and Sentos began to straighten from his seat, only to feel Orestes' hand grip tightly to his arm and pull him back down into his seat. The younger man shook his head at Sentos.

"Don't," he hissed. "You cannot stop what's about to happen."

"The Honoured Ephor ordered you to stand aside!" One of the red cloaked guard snapped, stepping forward toward Gracus. He did not manage more than a single pace when Gracus' spear lashed out, splitting the other man's leather breastplate and taking him hard in the gut. The guard gave a pained gasp of surprise and stumbled back a couple of feet before collapsing to the ground with blood seeping between his fingers.

For a moment all fell silent, and then suddenly, in a single bloody clash of sword and spear, Demosthenes' men felled the second guard too. Before anything could be done to stop them, they swept past their King to surround the low platform on which the Ephors were now seated.

The few of Leonidas' guards remaining at the Ephors' sides charged forward to meet them, but the element of surprise and sheer force of numbers on the side of Demosthenes' men were against them. Sentos tried again to stand, to run and help his comrades in their defence of the Ephors but Orestes continued to cling grimly to his arm.

"You can't save them," he hissed. "Better to live for the future, than to die needlessly in the here and now."

Sentos had never felt more worthless in his entire life. First Leonidas and now this. He did not understand what was happening anymore! Despite his confusion though, he knew Orestes was right. Even if he were to go to their aid, his leg and the number of Demosthenes' men would only result in a quick death, and in the end what would that achieve?

The coup itself lasted less than a minute. Soon, all of the red cloaked guards were dead or dying on the council chamber floor, and the Ephors had been made to kneel on the cold stone tiles of the platform, a ring of sharpened spear blades surrounding them. In the stands, the majority of the crowd were looking on in eager anticipation of what was to come next. Sentos could spy a few here and there who looked as disgusted by this turn of events as he felt, but also like him, they were powerless to intervene, their numbers simply being too few or too scattered to mount any kind of resistance.

"It would appear you made an error in judgement,_ Honoured_ Ephors," Demosthenes said, stepping up onto the platform with them and all but spitting the word 'honoured'.

"And what error would that be?" Nestus sneered back. "Not ordering your death sooner?"

A spear haft from one of the surrounding guards caught the hold man hard across the shoulders, driving him to all fours with a shout of pain as he went.

"Your error was in assuming that this was my trial," Demosthenes said smoothly, moving to squat in front of Nestus. "It was, in point of fact, yours."

Nestus tilted his head back to glare at Demosthenes, his eyes blazing fiery hatred from beneath his thick bushy eyebrows.

"You do not frighten me, Demosthenes" he growled defiantly. "You are nothing more than a petty tyrant with delusions of grandeur, the same as Xerxes, whom you fear so much!"

He turned his head to regard the room angrily.

"To be a Spartan is to be a warrior who does not court war!" he shouted. "A person of pride and strength, who remains humble and does not flaunt his power. Here now at this moment, you are making a choice to abandon that! If you follow this madman, if you let him sway you with a few well chosen words that turn your own fears to suit his needs, then you are destroying Sparta as surely as Xerxes will! Should that be the choice you make, then may Ares curse you all to burn in Tartarus for an eternity!"

"Ares!?" Demosthenes snapped, then straightened suddenly, his arms spreading wide as he gestured to the chamber all around them.

"Ares!?" he said again, almost laughing this time. "Look around you old man? Don't you feel it? The world has changed! Ares has not been watching over us since Marathon! We are dead to him, and so I say, that he too is dead to us! Do you not agree my Brothers?"

A resounding shout of agreement went up from the crowd, and Demosthenes turned back to face Nestus once more.

"Enough words," he said. "You are, all of you, guilty of betraying Sparta to its enemies, and surrendering the very rights and traditions that make us who we are. Now it is time for your final sentencing. I believe you already know the punishment for such a betrayal."

Nestus straightened his back, and stared at Demosthenes with eyes like ice.

"I believe I have seen you administer it enough," he said.

"Then you should know that I take no pleasure in this," Demosthenes replied his voice suddenly soft and regretful. "You were all of you true Spartans once. Maybe in the afterlife, you can be so again."

He glanced up at Captain Gracus and nodded curtly.

"Do it," he said.

Gracus returned his nod, and gestured to the rest of Demosthenes' soldiers surrounding the Ephors. The men stepped forward, three to each Ephor. Two of the three crossed the hafts of their spears behind each Ephor's neck, pushing their man forward so that he was kneeling with his head toward the floor. Then, the third soldier came stepping forward, each one drawing their sword and holding it above their own Ephor's neck, poised ready for a downward strike. Demosthenes himself stood above Nestus, the blade of his own sword shining wickedly in the light filtering in from outside.

"On my order..." Gracus barked loudly, and the soldiers fingers visibly tightened around their various weapons. "...execute!"

The silence was deafening as the swords fell, and five separate heads rolled sickeningly across the stone floor.

Demosthenes turned back to face the crowd, his sword, now stained with Nestus' blood, thrust high above his head.

"Justice is done!" he shouted. "Spartan law has been sated, and our pride restored! Now, there is much that must be done and little time to do it. So that we can save Greece from her enemies, first we must save her from herself! Are you with me my Brothers!"

A dull rumble of agreement went up through crowd, and a slow chant began to echo of the walls.

'Demosthenes!', 'Demosthenes!', 'Demosthenes!'

The last living Spartan King smiled, and thrust his bloodied sword even higher.

"ARE YOU WITH ME!" he bellowed.

The crowd went from low rumble to a full scale eruption, the chanting growing louder and louder with each passing moment until it boomed like thunder from wall to wall.

Sentos grimaced at the sight and sound of it all. He could feel his stomach lurching sickeningly as he eyed the heads of the Ephors littering the council room floor. Was this really what Leonidas had been fighting for? Was this really the Sparta they had been trying to save? Nestus' eyes seemed to stare back at him accusingly, and slowly he looked away, his gaze finally falling on Orestes next to him.

"A dark day," the blue cloaked Spartan said softly.

"I don't understand," Sentos muttered, his voice hoarse and miserable. "What has become of us? When did we become so hate filled? How this even happen!?"

Orestes looked at him, his expression one of complete and total despair.

"The same way these things always happen," he said. "Because we let them."

* * *

A thin layer of drizzle hung in the air beyond the window. Athelis sighed as he watched Ithius and his wagon roll into the yard from out of the dull gray forest beyond, the wagon's wheels caked with mud from the dirt trail that led up to the small woodsman's cottage in which he now found himself.

Nearby, from out of the shelter of a rickety thatched lean-to, a short squat man with a barrel chest and thick arms crossed the rain slick cobbles of the yard and began to help a group of particularly weary and ragged looking individuals down from the wagon. Some of them were carrying bags, or sacks of clothes, food, or maybe even valuables salvaged form their former life. Others had little more than the clothes on their backs, but one and all, they each wore the same expression of loss and fear. Athelis knew how they were feeling. He had felt the same way when he had awoken after the battle at the tomb, only to find Callisto comatose, and his one hope for revenge seemingly dashed to pieces.

Now he was here, idling in the middle of a forest on the edge of Spartan territory while outside, Ithius had begun to run himself a little refugee camp for fleeing Helots. It was nonsense really, a complete disaster just waiting to happen. Take the squat man for instance. Athelis knew his name was Drogo and that he was, relatively speaking, something of a big wig in the Helot community, but beyond that he knew nothing about the man. Ithius seemed to trust him, but how far could that trust really stretch? Could any of them truly be trusted at all? With every fresh Helot brought here, the chances of their being discovered were heightened exponentially. All it would take was one – just one – agent of Pelion's cult or Demosthenes' Spartans to creep in here and they would suddenly have a whole world of trouble bearing down upon them.

Sitting here playing humanitarian games was not the way forward. They should be out there making plans, fighting back, and yet none of them were.

And nor was he.

He slapped his hand hard against the window frame and let out a frustrated grunt. Why was he so afraid? What was it that was suddenly holding him back? He had never felt so uncertain before. He had always known exactly what it was he wanted, what it would take to make it so that he did not see Corrina's face every time he fell asleep at night. Now though, the answers were not so clear, and that frustrated him no end.

A low, pained moan sounded behind him, and he turned to the narrow, uncomfortable looking bed on which Callisto lay. Her condition had not changed since they had dragged her, limp and unconscious, from the tomb of Lycurgus. If anything she looked even worse than back then. It had only been a few days, yet her eyes were sunken, and they darted back and forth beneath their lids in the same manner they had been doing ever since her swim in the Pneuma lake. Her skin was pallid and clammy, shining with a thin layer of sweat that soaked her hair too.

He crossed to her side and placed a hand tenderly across her brow. She did not so much as flinch, lost as she was in whatever nightmares were plaguing her.

"I..." he began, then paused, swallowing as he tried to think of the words. Every time he did this, he just could not seem to get them right.

"...I never got the chance to apologise before," he said. "I wanted to tell you that I might have misjudged you, but you didn't give me the chance, and then..."

Outside the room he heard the sound of the cottage's front door banging shut and heavy footsteps on the floorboards outside. He withdrew his hand quickly and crossed back to the window. At his back, the door to the room opened and Ithius walked in, his cloak still dripping rain water.

Athelis cast him a backward glance then went back to staring out of the window.

"Any sign?" he asked.

"None," Ithius said from behind him. "None of the refugees have seen anyone meeting Monocles' description on the road North."

There was a brief pause, and Athelis felt his heart sink a little. Monocles had been his paymaster, and a strange little man he had been too, but in the end Athelis had grown quite fond of him. He hated the idea that something bad might have happened to him.

"Maybe he already got clear," he suggested, but deep down he had a feeling that that was not the case.

"Maybe," he heard Ithius agree. He could already hear in the other man's tone that he suspected the same as Athelis. There was silence for a couple of minutes, then the floorboards creaked softly as Ithius crossed to Callisto's side.

"Any other news?" Athelis asked steadily, still not turning around.

"Nothing good," Ithius answered, his voice sounding tired and defeated at the same time. "The Ephors are dead, and Demosthenes is now the sole power in Sparta. Apparently Demosthenes is shouting to anyone who will listen that the only way to stand against the Persians is if they unite Greece under one banner. A Spartan baner."

Athelis snorted.

"Good luck getting Delphi to agree," he said. "They've never been warriors, and the Athenians would sooner cut off their own feet than march to war under a Spartan led coalition."

"They won't have to agree if Demosthenes conquers them," Ithius said tiredly. "There's talk of taking the army North, to wage war and make any who won't ally with Demosthenes do so by force if necessary. Because Demosthenes is playing off the invasion fears, it's getting a surprising amount of popular support from the nobility and such..."

"That's madness," Athelis said as he watched the rain outside begin to worsen. "A war now wouldn't strengthen anything. It would only make the whole of Greece weaker when the Persians do finally come for us again."

"It does make sense if your goal isn't to win a war, but to end Greek lives," Ithius said darkly.

"So you think that's what the Followers were after all along?" Athelis asked. "Play the political game and turn the situation to their advantage so they can start a civil war?"

"I do."

Athelis rolled his eyes.

"And you played right into their hands, what with your little populist revolt, didn't you?" He gave Ithius a round of mock applause. "Great going there chief."

Ithius fell silent for a moment, and he spoke again his voice was tighter.

"Rumour has it that the Followers are finding a surprising amount of converts from the temples of Artemis and Ares," he continued eventually. "People are scared and uncertain, grasping at anything that might give them some kind of hope..."

Athelis felt his stomach turn at that, but he managed to hold his tongue this time. The last thing he needed right now was to get into a fist fight with Ithius. The former Helot's voice trailed off, and Athelis could hear floorboards creaking again as he shifted his weight.

"Any change?" he asked. It did not take a genius to work out that he was talking about Callisto.

"None," Athelis replied.

"One of the men I just brought in is a healer. He's a little odd, not as frightened as the rest, but he seems to think he can help."

"Best send him in then," Athelis sneered back. "The sooner he fails the sooner we can try something else that doesn't work either."

"Do you have a problem with something?" he heard Ithius say sternly.

"Yeah," Athelis snapped, rounding on him sharply as he did so. "You!"

"Me?"

"You," Athelis nodded, then gestured out of the window at the yard beyond. "Demosthenes betrayed you, put your best friend on the path to self destruction, murdered your people, and all to pave the way for this power play of his, and you're just sitting here letting him do it!"

"You think I should be fighting back?" Ithius said, his voice tight and controlled, but Athelis could sense the growing anger inside him. "Mounting some kind of a resistance effort so that more of us can be slaughtered like pigs before market day?"

"At least then you'd be doing something useful!" Athelis said

Ithius' jaw muscles stood out beneath his skin as he clenched his teeth together in an effort to hold his temper.

"My people aren't soldiers Athelis. They're not like you or me. They proved that at the mustering fields. Those of them that tried to fight lost their lives there. The one's that are left... they just want to run... to find somewhere safe..."

"Don't be naive Ithius," Athelis interrupted. "There's nowhere that's going to be safe for any of you now, and you know it too! Demosthenes isn't going to stop searching for you all. You have to fight back."

"With what!?" Ithius finally snapped, his voice rising angrily. "They aren't warriors! Not a one of them! They're bakers, farmers, servants, and tailors, and you're telling me I should send them out against battle trained Spartans? They wouldn't last two minutes!"

"Horse shit!" Athelis sneered. "It's not about how well people fight. You've been in enough battles to know that. It's about how well they are led! Your old friend Leonidas just proved that at Thermopylae."

"Maybe if I had some help," Ithius growled back, "from... oh I don't know... some experienced mercenary lets say... someone who's seen war from all sides, and knows how to fight it. Someone who could help plan and strategise; someone who didn't spend all their time just moping about in..."

"Don't start with me," Athelis cut him off flatly. "I didn't just play right into the Followers' hands. Your war with Demosthenes isn't mine, Ithius."

"I've been having trouble trying to work out exactly which war_ is_ yours," Ithius shot back. "Remind me again why you came to Sparta in the first place? It clearly wasn't for a love of history."

"I don't need to listen to this," Athelis said dismissively. "You aren't my commander. You can't tell me what to do. You have to pay me for that privilege. My average rate is twenty dinars a day, plus expenses."

Ithius fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly to himself.

"You're right of course," he said softly. "You'll be gone by sunset then?"

"I..." Athelis paused as the words suddenly sank in. "What?"

Ithius folded his arms and regarded the Athelis sternly.

"You heard me," he said, louder this time. "You're of no use to me lurking in here like this, and I'm certainly not about to pay for the 'privilege' of your company. I don't have time for freeloaders taking up space and supplies. We're already having to ration what food we have, and I could support three children on the amount you pack away at every meal. I expect everyone here to earn their keep Athelis, you included. If you can't do that, or aren't even willing to try, then I want you gone."

The two of them stood, glaring at each other in silence for long moments, until Callisto let out another pained groan. Athelis flicked his head toward the unconscious woman.

"What about her?" he said. "You going to waste 'space and supplies' on her?"

"I owe her my help," Ithius replied. "I don't owe you anything. Besides, why do you even care? It's not like she was paying you."

Athelis wanted to lunge for the other man, to throttle him there and then. Instead he settled for an even glare.

"I don't care," he said. He was lying of course, but he was not entirely sure why.

Ithius cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing him either.

"Gone by sunset remember," he said firmly, then turned and headed for the door. "I'll send in the healer," was the last thing he said before the door swung shut behind him.

Athelis stared at the door for a moment or two longer, his mind churning over what he had just said. Why did he even care what happened to Callisto? Practical reasons really. She had seemed to know a lot about the Followers, and had been actively trying to fight them. That had made them uneasy allies, and at her side, he had been able to do more damage to Pelion and his schemes in two days, than he had managed in the preceding three years. Necessity made for strange bedfellows on occasion, and there were none stranger than Callisto.

He crossed back to the bed and stared down at her, the reasoning bouncing around his head, but never really convincing him.

"I'm lying to myself, but then you knew that didn't you?" he said softly. "At first, I thought you were just like the man I've spent the last few years hating. You aren't though, are you? You're the only one who really understands I think; the only one who knows how much it hurts when the ones you love are taken from you."

"Not the only one, I can assure you," came a fresh voice. It was dry and cracked like withered parchment. Athelis looked up to see a travel worn figure standing in the doorway. His back was hunched and old gnarled hands clutched at a heavy looking walking staff. Athelis could not make out the man's face, hidden as it was beneath a ragged burlap hood, but something about that voice was achingly familiar

"You're the healer I take it?" he said.

"I have a little talent in that regard, yes," the man said, stepping more fully into the room, his walking staff clacking loudly off the floorboards as he made his way over to Callisto. With his back turned to Athelis He propped his staff against the bed, then gently, almost cautiously even, he reached out and lifted her wrist, placing two fingers across it and another two against his own neck beneath the hood.

"What are you doing?" Athelis asked, but the man did not answer. Instead, he stood still, his head cocked slightly to one side as if listening to some far away voice.

"Her pulse is shallow but steady," he said, sounding more familiar to Athelis with each passing moment. "She lives for now, but for how much longer..." he shrugged, "...that I cannot say."

He glanced briefly back over his shoulder toward Athelis, but kept his head lowered so that his face could not be seen.

"This is Pneuma poisoning isn't it?" he asked.

Athelis nodded then looked to Callisto.

"We've tried everything we can think of, but she won't wake up," he said, before shifting his gaze back to the old healer. "Do you know what it's doing to her?"

"All too well," he said. "You will not be able to wake her, because she is not really asleep. She is trapped within her own mind, inside a labyrinth built of her own fear, pain and hatred."

"Sounds lovely," Athelis said. "A veritable stroll in Elysium."

Callisto shifted slightly on the bed, her eyes fluttering briefly, and Athelis felt his heart leap into his throat. Was this it? Was she about to wake up? With a low moan, she settled again, her eyes returning to the same darting pattern as before. Athelis' spirit sank.

"Can you help her?" he said eventually, not taking his eyes off Callisto as he spoke.

"The Pneuma is a gift from the Olympians," the healer said. "It was sent down as a test. That is what this is; a test of will, of soul, strength and faith. No mortal hand can interfere or change it..."

As he spoke, the man's voice began to drift far away, as if his attention were beginning to wander.

"...but then that is the challenge is it not? To undo that which they have made, to defy that which they thought set in stone..."

Athelis' frowned again. The healer was talking to someone, that much was clear, but he was certainly not addressing Athelis. As he continued, he seemed to forget himself, his dry withered voice becoming deeper and clearer as if the cracked tones of earlier had been simple affectation. A slow, dawning realisation was beginning to creep at the back of Athelis' skull. This man was familiar, and it was a familiarity Athelis did not like.

"Hey," he said, taking a step forward as he tried to get the other man's attention. "Do I know you? I feel like I should."

The man began to chuckle, softly at first, but slowly it grew until it was a rich throaty laugh, far removed from the dry, hoarseness of before.

"Oh come now Athelis!" he said, his voice now sickeningly clear. Suddenly, it became as if a completely different man were standing before him. The hunched back disappeared in an instant, and where once he had stood wizened and malformed, now the old man was tall and proud. Slowly, he reached up to remove the hood that obscured his face. It was a dramatic gesture that was not really even necessary. Athelis already knew who he was facing. As the hood fell away, Pelion's smile broadened at the look of horror on his face.

"If am honest with you, I'm more than a little surprised," he said scornfully. "Surprised and also somewhat disappointed. I had thought you savvier than to be fooled by so simple a disguise."

He brushed at the sleeves of his ragged robes distastefully.

"I would have worn my ceremonial robes naturally, but they are rather conspicuous at the end of the day, and I thought it best that this little rendezvous be done in secret." He leaned forward, his voice now a smug conspiratorial whisper. "After all, one never knows who might be watching."

Athelis did not say a word. Instead he let out a guttural growl of fury and leaped at the other man, driving him hard against the wooden wall and pressing his forearm roughly across the old priest's throat.

"You!" he snarled darkly, already reaching for his dagger, only to realise he had left with his sword and the rest of his things in the room next door. With a frustrated grunt, he redoubled his efforts to choke the man to death. "All these years running and now you just waltz right in here, bold as brass!? I don't know what game it is you're playing this time, what angle it is that you're working, but I'll tell you now, I'm going to kill you before you ever get the chance to see it through!"

Pelion gagged and choked as Athelis' forearm ground harder and harder against his throat, cutting off the air millimeter by painful millimeter.

"...can't... breathe..." he managed to gasp.

"That's kind of the idea," Athelis said, a grim feeling of satisfaction beginning to settle over him as Pelion's eyes rolled desperately.

"Kill me..." the old priest hissed.

"Precisely what I'm doing," Athelis retorted.

"...kill me..." Pelion struggled to continue, "...and you lose... all of you..."

"What are you talking about?" Athelis snapped, but Pelion's eyes were already turning vacant, staring dully into the middle distance as unconsciousness began to set in.

"What do you mean we lose!?" Athelis demanded again. He leaned in close, his mouth no more than an inch or so from Pelion's. "ANSWER ME!"

Pelion's mouth moved slowly, but the only sound that emerged from it was a pained, wheezing rattle. With a final cry of pure hatred, Athelis stepped back, releasing Pelion and letting him fall to the floor, the old man's breaths coming in heaving gasps until he managed to cough loudly and his breathing began to return to normal.

"What did you mean when you said we lose?" Athelis said again, glaring down at him disdainfully.

"Exactly what I said," Pelion replied, his voice now sounding genuinely hoarse. "Kill me, and you ensure my Lord's freedom."

"Is that why you came here then?" Athelis said. "Guarantee Cronus' release from Tartarus by having me kill you?"

He cocked his head slightly in consideration of the other man.

"Funny," he continued. "I never really pegged you as the martyring type."

"Then you don't know me well enough," Pelion snapped back. "I would gladly die to see my Lord's will be done."

"But far easier to let other people do the dying for you?" Athelis sneered.

"And what would you know of pain?" Pelion snorted dismissively at him. "Of loss? Of sacrifice?"

"Corrina was my WIFE!" Athelis practically shouted, unable to keep his temper from flaring.

"And she was my daughter!" Pelion responded in kind. "I wasn't about to lose her the same way I did my wife. No one was going to take her from me! Not the Olympians, and certainly not you!"

"So you thought you'd just kill her instead!?" Athelis said incredulously.

"I sent her to my Lord's side," Pelion said, his voice ringing with righteousness and his eyes shining with the light of a man safe in his total conviction. "There she will be cared for and looked after in a way like no other. There she will be safe."

"Funny definition of safety you have," Athelis said darkly.

Pelion turned away with disgusted snort.

"You just cannot understand can you?" he said. "Hardly a surprise really I suppose. Such a faithless creature as you never could. Your only loyalty has ever been to yourself; to your own wants, your own desires and pathetic satisfactions. Is it any wonder I needed to protect Corrina from you? I could never have trusted someone so completely selfish with my daughter."

Athelis could not think of an answer. He had always thought there was some dark, unholy reason that Pelion had murdered his own daughter; that it had been some weird occult sacrifice. The truth, that it had in fact been done out of some insane level of fatherly protectiveness, was probably even worse, and made him feel sick to his stomach. Pelion had burned his daughter alive in a temple, not because he had loved his god too much, but because he had loved her even more.

"If you have so much faith in your Lord, why are you here now?" he asked eventually. "Aren't I supposed to be your enemy?"

Pelion gave a low, derisive chuckle.

"I hate to disappoint you Athelis, but in my Lord's grand design, you do not even warrant a footnote." He gestured toward Callisto's prone form on the bed. "She on the other hand... she has... well, lets just say that she has a role to play." He gave a philosophical shrug. "Whether for good or ill though,well, that has yet to be decided.""

Athelis' lip curled upward in a sneer of distaste.

"Then why did your friend Mortius decide to dunk her in the Pneuma?" he said. "Hard to for her to play that role if she's dead, or comatose for that matter.

Pelion gave a long suffering sigh.

"He is somewhat... overzealous would be the word I believe. There may have been a... a... misunderstanding." Suddenly, he cocked his head in the same manner her had earlier, as if he were listening again. "But there may still be some benefit to be gained from this," he muttered almost to himself, his gaze and voice far away again, his face slack with inattention. He continued to stand that way for close to a minute, then blinking sharply, his eyes refocused on Athelis and a dark smile lit his face.

"You want her back, don't you," he said. It was not a question.

"I want your head on the garden wall out there," Athelis said, motioning toward the window and the yard beyond. "You and your Followers, all in a neat little row. Cronus' too if I have my way about it."

"Aiming a little beyond your means, don't you think?" Pelion countered archly.

"That's why I need her!" Athelis shot back without missing a beat as he pointed toward Callisto. "She was going to help me put an end to you!"

"And once more, you reveal your true colours," Pelion said. "Everything has to be in service of you and petty needs. Even her. I do not think she would be pleased to hear that."

Athelis' fists clenched tightly and he felt his anger beginning to grow inside of him. Everything Pelion was saying was cutting deeper than he cared to admit. How could the old man no such much?

"I've been patient with you so far," he said, doing his best to hold his temper, "but if you want to make it out of here alive, I suggest you leave." He gestured to the door. "Right now."

Pelion held up a hand as if he were gesturing to a servant, and Athelis felt his stomach churn with rage. Still, he managed to cling to his temper though.

"Not just yet," the old priest said, and he held up a stalling hand as Athelis took a threatening step toward him. "Kill me, and lose your only chance to save her." he said quickly.

Athelis stopped and folded his arms firmly across his chest.

"Alright," he said. "I'm listening."

"I have something for you," Pelion said, reaching into his robes as he did so. "A peace offering if you like, something that may help you get what you want."

From his robes, he pulled an amulet, and not a particularly attractive one either. Though it appeared to be made of gold, it was mostly plain and unadorned, with a thick chain securing a large flat disc. The disc itself was without markings or ornamentation of any kind save one noticeable one. A large misshapen lump of what looked startlingly like obsidian had been set at the amulets centre.

Pelion handed it to him as if it were the most valuable thing in the world, and Athelis took it from him warily, lifting it to his eye line so that he might better inspect it.

"What is this?" he asked.

"The one thing that can cure her," Pelion said softly, his keen eyes focused intently on Athelis. "If you place it around her neck, it will draw her back to you."

"How..." Athelis began, then stopped short, staring at the amulet intently. Something about the obsidian gem set at its core drew his eye, and he felt a faint tugging sensation in the back of his mind, as if something were being stirred deep inside him. For a moment, the image of Corrina, cold, dead and burned flashed in his mind, and there was a lurching sensation in his stomach, as if he were suddenly falling.

With a great effort, he managed to wrench his eyes away from the amulet and back to Pelion.

"Why?" he asked, his breath catching in his chest. "Why give me this? Why help me save her if she's only going to try and stop you?"

"Did I not say her role is not yet fully decided?" Pelion said. "She may try to stop my Lord, this is true. She may also yet prove to be the key to his return."

"Then why shouldn't I just leave her as she is?" Athelis said, feeling frustration growing inside him.

Pelion's smile widened nastily.

"Because you want to see me dead, and my Lord stopped as much as she does," he said, then tapped thoughtfully at his staff.

"If memory serves, you and your soldier friends often used to gamble, am I right? Cards, cups, dice, games of chance and the like?"

Athelis nodded.

"I've played the odds before, yes."

"And that is all I am offering you," he said, nodding toward the amulet. "Just another game of chance. Another opportunity to play the odds. In the end, you may yet lose, but should you win, well..." he shrugged and headed toward the door, leaving Athelis to stare disbelievingly at the amulet once more. As he opened the door to leave, the old priest lifted his hood again, casting a final backward glance.

"... ask yourself this; is the gain not worth the risk?"

With that he was gone, the door swinging quietly shut behind him.

For long moments Athelis stood, the amulet hanging limply between his fingers as he gazed at it, being careful not to stare directly into the obsidian. He felt twisted and turned around inside. He did not trust Pelion, but at the same time, he could not ignore the logic of his words. Chance was not something to be sneered at. He had met Corrina by chance after all. The bigger question was, how much was Pelion stacking the odds against him?

Gingerly he held the amulet out at arms length, dangling it mere inches above Callisto's face. She stirred fitfully and her top lip curled back to reveal clenched white teeth. The amulet was cool and the gold made it heavy between his fingers. It would be so easy to just place it around her neck right now, to have her back in an instant, ready to side with him and spit Pelion and the rest of cretinous Followers like the suckling pigs they were. So, so easy.

Too easy perhaps.

With a sigh, a drew it back away from her again. Could she really be trusted, or was Pelion right? Would she ultimately turn on them, on him? It would hardly be an unprecedented move if she did, but then what other options did he have? If there was one lesson the last few days had taught him, it was that Pelion and the Followers were far more than they had first appeared, and certainly more than he could handle alone. He needed allies, and more of them than just Callisto.

With a frustrated grunt, he shoved the amulet inside his leather jerkin and stalked out of the room into the hall outside. There was no sign of Pelion, the priest long having departed, and Athelis cursed softly. How could he have been so stupid!? He had had the chance to end Pelion! Right there and then, and he had allowed the old man to distract him with talk of Corrina, and Callisto.

From somewhere down the hall he could hear voices from another room. It was the small front room that overlooked the other side of the clearing where the cottage was situated.

Squaring his shoulders he began to stride purposefully toward it. He knew now what he had to do. The Helots had never really been a threat to the Followers. They had just been a means to an end for them, but now, just maybe...

He shoved the door to the room open roughly and walked inside. A small table had been set up by the window that overlooked the forest beyond, and Ithius and the man known as Drogo were seated at it. Drogo was nursing a mug of ale, while Ithius examined and old tattered map spread out in front of him.

"...could head North..." Drogo was saying, but Ithius was shaking his head.

"Demosthenes will be waiting for us to try that, and besides, we might be leaving people..." he stopped suddenly as Athelis slammed the door shut behind him.

"What do you want?" Ithius said.

Athelis said nothing. He merely crossed the room to stand beside them, the amulet weighing heavy inside his jerkin as he glared down at the map.

"You should be using the forests to move around," he said simply. "Stick to the back trails and woodsmans' paths. Spartans never march without enough men to form a Phalanx. That's too many men on such small roads. The old wagon trails are no good though. Demosthenes will be watching them for certain."

Ithius glanced at Drogo then cocked an eyebrow at Athelis.

"And what's the charge for this service?" he said.

"That one you get for free," Athelis said. "Along with anymore of my help you need, but on one condition."

Ithius eyed him thoughtfully.

"And what condition would that be?"

Athelis smiled grimly.

"When the time comes, I want your help nailing every last Follower to the nearest wall," he said.

* * *

Pelion was not in the best of moods as he entered the main chamber of the tomb. The meeting with Athelis had gone as hoped, but he would never have had to resort to such desperate measures if not for Mortius' near killing of Callisto. Even now he was not entirely sure that the shadowy Soul might not have succeeded already. Pneuma was a potent thing, when all was said and done, and combined with Callisto's own powerful personal demons, it could easily prove lethal. Pelion still remembered what had happened to Soriacles. By all rights, Callisto should have been dead already, her mind little more than a scorched and blackened mess inside her skull. That that had not taken place stood as stark testimony to her resilience, and how the Olympians selection of her to be their champion had ultimately proven to be a more cunning move than even he had first thought.

He paused mid stride, studying the decapitated body of the Follower on the floor. Mortius' punishment for his failure had been swift and brutal, a true portrait of the shadowy figure's single minded ruthlessness. As he stared down at the head, a dull ache began to throb painfully between his temples, and he felt a gnawing presence beginning to eat away at the back of his mind.

"_Calm yourself my Faith," _came the familiar distant whisper of his Lord. _"There is no failure in the service you have given. My Soul is formidable. He could be no other way or else I would never have chosen him. However, he works to his own agenda. You though, you have done well in achieving mine. The Callisto woman will yet belong to me. You need only to hold to your trust in me, to stay the course, and to give it time."_

Pelion began walking again, attempting to make it appear as if there nothing untoward were happening.

Time may have been something they had now, but it would not always be so. With each passing day their enemies would be marshalling their forces. There plan was sound no matter the preparations their opponents made, but the longer they were given to prepare a defence, the less effective his Lord's plan would be.

"_You doubt me?" _His Lord rasped irritably, his voice like a swarm of hornets buzzing around Pelion's mind. _"That would be most unwise. You are my Faith! There is no room for doubt. Only utmost obedience, and then, when I am free, your faithful service will not be forgotten."_

Pelion did his best to stifle his thoughts. His Lord was right. He could not afford to let any kind of doubt cloud his judgement. Athelis would not disappoint. Of that he was certain.

He mounted the steps that led up to Lycurgus' sarcophagus, and stood quietly, his eyes sliding over the Pneuma lake as he waited.

"_He comes to you..." _His Lord hissed. _"I crawl at the edges of his mind..."_

There was a barely audible rustle from somewhere nearby, and Pelion narrowed his eyes as he listened carefully. It was a dry scrabbling sound coming from somewhere back toward the tomb entrance. It continued for a moment or two then was followed by a low, grunted curse, and footsteps muffled only slightly by the darkness around the edges of the chamber.

He turned to regard the room, bringing his staff down with a loud bang against the slab beneath his feet. The crack of wood against stone rolled off the walls and between the pillars, causing the footsteps to falter for a moment.

"I know you are there," he called out loudly. "You Spartans may be renowned warriors, but stealth is clearly not your greatest strength."

"Nor was it ever my concern," came a strong voice, edged with an infuriating level of self possession that almost rivalled Pelion's own.

A number of men crossed out of the shadows around the edges of the chamber, and Pelion felt every muscle in his body tense in involuntary nervousness. They were all of them big, well muscled and clad in the usual dark leather armour of Spartan soldiers. Each of them wore a blue cape, fastened with a bronze clasp and a similarly fashioned helm with a low cut blue crest. At their head marched a figure as tall as any of the others. He did not wear his helm, carrying it in the crook of his arm as if it were some kind of royal scepter. Unlike the rest of the Spartans, he also did not carry a spear. Instead, a heavy looking sword hung in a plain scabbard at his side, and he wore it with the easy grace of a man born to it.

"King Demosthenes," Pelion said with a sweeping bow, equal parts respectful and at the same time full of mockery. "I had not expected to see you here..."

He straightened, a dark look suddenly creeping across his face.

"...at least not so soon..." He continued, then cast a meaningful glance toward the men at the King's back. "...or so well escorted. Your instructions were to come alone."

"Surely you did not expect me to travel the roads unattended in the current climate?" Demosthenes said as he reached the foot of the steps and began to ascend them. "There are a great many who would be delighted were they to get word that I was travelling abroad of the city, and without escort."

"But that 'great many' are not here," Pelion replied, "and you will remember your place. In Sparta you may be a King, but among us you are only a Brother, no greater or lesser than any other. I am the Faith of our Lord, a first among equals, as is Mortius his Soul, and neither of us will brook disrespect to ourselves or our positions. Is that perfectly clear for you?"

Demosthenes paused on the steps, eyeing the old priest warily, then turned and gestured to his men to leave. Most of them turned on their heels almost immediately, but one man, broad shouldered and with a thick neck, glared at Pelion steadily. Demosthenes fixed the man with a commanding stare.

"Gracus," he said, his voice lowered with a hint of warning to it. The other man's eyes flickered toward his King, and he gave a curt nod before turning to follow the rest of the soldiers back outside.

As they left, Demosthenes turned back to face Pelion. His eyes were blazing hotly, and his jaw was set in an almost petulant line. Pelion did not flinch or cower and instead stared back at him, his eyes hard and unblinking. He would see to it that this upstart learned his place. A Spartan King was nothing compared to the Faith of Cronus.

Finally Demosthenes bowed his head and dropped to one knee.

"My apologies, Brother Faith," he said, not sounding in the least bit humbled. "But I cannot appear weak in front of my men. I am sure you understand the need for them to respect my position, my authority..."

"All of which are meaningless to me," Pelion interrupted him. "Remember who it was who saved you from the hopelessness and despair that had so crippled you. Remember who it was who gave you back that dignity you had lost, and promised you the world you desperately desired, but could not achieve on your own."

"Great Lord Cronus," Demosthenes intoned, as if reciting scripture.

"Yes," Pelion said. "There was an oath sworn too if I recall, in which you surrendered unto him all your worldly concerns. Your position, your authority; they all belong to him now, to bestow or to take away as he sees fit. Never forget that."

"I will endeavour to do so, Brother Faith."

Pelion shook his head.

"Do not 'endeavour'," he said. "Achieve."

Demosthenes bristled at that, but before he could answer, a strange flickering among the nearby shadows caught both their eyes. Suddenly, as if by magic, Mortius was standing before them both, the shadows peeling back off the customary sickle bladed staff at his side, and clinging all about him like an extension of the robes he wore.

"I would say our Brother has already achieved much," he said in that same strong, but strangely flat tone he had. "More perhaps than some others I could name."

The swipe was not so much thinly veiled as it was scandalously clothed, and suddenly it was Pelion's turn to bristle with indignation.

"So we are all here then," he said, doing his best to ignore Mortius' remark. "Can we just get this over with and move on to what lies ahead now that Sparta is behind us. The next stage of our Lord's plan awaits us, and I for one, am eager to move on with it."

Mortius turned to regard him, the blackness beneath his hood as unnerving as ever.

"Impatience does not become you Pelion," he said. "Or do you disagree with my choice?"

The remark was bait of course, a not so subtle trap. If he argued the decision it would suggest that they were not united, undermining the whole philosophy of the Followers being equals beneath their Lord, and that their leading Triumvirate were the first among them. However, if he did not challenge it, it would be an almost tacit admission that he did not hold the same sway as Mortius, which would in turn only serve to cement the other's already intimidating reputation within the ranks of the Followers.

"We speak as one voice," he said carefully. "We act as one will. His will. Demosthenes has been chosen..."

He paused and gritted his teeth.

"...by both of us," he finished tightly.

Inside his head, Pelion felt his Lord stir, causing the headache he was feeling to pulse harder and heavier.

"_An uninspired choice by my Soul," _he hissed, _"This one is filled with fear that he cannot stand, nor truly face. He is broken, when he should be whole. Weak when he should be strong. Unfortunately my Soul has maneuvered most well in this matter..." _he sounded almost proud_ "...you have little choice but to play along my Faith. This King of Sparta will do..."_

The voice was already beginning to fade, but it had not disappeared entirely from Pelion's mind before one final remark was uttered.

"_...for now."_

Mortius was already turning to face Demosthenes.

"...have given more to our cause than any other Brother or Sister..." he was saying. "...and as such you have reached a level of esteem in the eyes of our Lord beyond that of any save ourselves," Pelion nearly laughed out loud.

Esteem indeed!

Mortius gestured toward him smoothly.

""In ages past, when our Lord still walked in the world of the living, the Followers held a triumvirate of power as foremost amongst them," the dark figure began to intone, his words a pitch perfect repetition of those he had spoken to Pelion in this very tomb only a week or so before. "Each point of this triumvirate, the Soul, the Strength and the Faith, stood as a cornerstone of our Lord's being. In the past we spoke in his place. We were voices for each distinct face of his multifaceted brilliance. I, as the Soul, am the apex of the triumvirate, and Pelion, as his Faith, guides the Brothers and Sisters of our fellowship in the Following of his will. One more position remains however, and it is time it was filled."

"I am adequate to the task!" Demosthenes announced proudly from where he knelt, and Pelion had to fight hard to repress a derisive snort. He could have thought of no better word than 'adequate' to describe Demosthenes if he had tried.

"I will not be a disappointment..." Demosthenes was continuing. "...I will lead the Spartan army forth, and we will carve our Lord's name into the very bedrock of Greece herself! The barrier will crumble, Great Cronus will be freed, and Olympus and Ares will fall. This I promise to you!"

"A heady promise indeed," Pelion sneered. "Be sure that you can fulfill it. Our Lord does not look kindly upon failure."

Mortius did not look at Pelion, but the old priest could tell he had scored a point against the Soul, as the shadows at dark figure's feet twisted and seethed in obvious irritation.

"But a promise that shows your dedication, your commitment, and your drive," Mortius pressed on in spite of Pelion. He stepped forward, reaching out a pale hand toward the kneeling Demosthenes.

"Now come," he said, his voice taking on that same flat tone of recital as it had before. "stand beside me strong Demosthenes, be my Brother in a way no other among the Followers is."

The Spartan King accepted his outstretched hand gratefully, and Mortius pulled him to his feet, as Pelion looked on grimly. This was not right and his Lord was correct. Demosthenes was the wrong choice. He knew that deep down in the pit of his stomach. The Strength should be strong, and Demosthenes was not. There was too much fear in him, and too much pride. He would lead them to disaster, of that Pelion was almost certain. It should be Callisto here in front of them! No, it _would_ be Callisto.

He would make sure of that himself.

"Now we are as one," Mortius announced with great finality, "Together we are our Lord's Soul, his Strength and his Faith, our fates entwined under his watchful eye."

Neither Demosthenes nor Mortius noticed as Pelion muttered their Lord's final words under his breath one more time.

"...for now," he whispered.


	22. Epilogue: Down Here With Me

**Epilogue: Down Here With Me**

The laughter seemed to be everywhere, all surrounding and encompassing. It mocked and jeered at her, its dry, cackling pitch cutting straight to her heart as she tumbled down, down, down, into bottomless darkness. She could not remember how long she had been falling, or how she had even begun to fall, but she did know, with a great sense of trepidation and dread, what would be waiting for her at the end. The laughter intensified and she felt a scream building inside her; one born of frustration and impotence in the face of her torment.

"STOP IT!" she shouted furiously into the darkness. "STOP LAUGHING! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME IN PEACE!"

But the laughter did not stop, no, would not stop. It continued on and on, cruel, harsh and biting as it cut to the very core of her. With a terrible, wrenching scream, she clasped her hands to her head, pressing her palms to her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the never ending cacophony. It did no good though, and the laughter now echoed inside her head as loudly as it had in the empty darkness from before.

Suddenly, as if by magic, it stopped. It did not fade away or dissipate. One moment it was there, the next it was gone, leaving her a moment of pure, blissful silence. Then she heard the sound of wind roaring in her ears and she knew that the end was near. She closed her eyes, and hoped for a quick ending as whatever it was she was falling toward rushed up to meet her...

* * *

Callisto jolted awake as if she had been having a nightmare, but she could remember nothing of it. If she tried hard, she had some vague recollection of blackness, and a sensation of being in free fall akin to the time... the time...

She could not remember. When she tried, all that came back to her was haze, like when she tried to recall a dream. She frowned to herself. Something about that struck her as backwards. After all, this was the dream... wasn't it?

Slowly she glanced about herself, her eyes widening as she took in her surroundings. The soft warmth of sunlight filtered through tree branches over head, casting dappled shadows across her face, and she had to blink against the bright flares of light that occasionally managed to pierce the canopy of leaves above her. Her back was pressed against rough tree bark, and one leg was dangling loosely in the open air, while the other was tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around it at the knee.

She was sitting in the low hanging branches of a large tree. The warmth of sunlight and the dew on the leaves suggested it was mid morning, as did the sound of cheerful birdsong.

She already knew exactly where she was, though she was not entirely sure how she knew it. This was the big tree that had sat alone a hundred or so meters from her home in Cirra. She had used to come up here when she had wanted to escape and hide from her mother and her chores. She remembered how her mother had always been hard on her about keeping up with her house work, but she had never really taken to it. Sweeping the yard had been her least favorite and wherever possible she had bribed her sister to do it for her with the sweet cakes she had often pilfered from the village baker...

As the memories of her childhood came flooding back to her, she felt a dull ache form in the back of her throat. She had not thought about the tree, or the the sweetcakes, or even sweeping the yard for her mother in so long... but why? Because this place was impossible was why. Cirra was gone; her family with it, and with them, any semblance of the life she could have had. Once more though, she did not know how she knew that. Why was Cirra gone? What had taken her family from her?

Something flashed strong in her mind then; the image of a dark haired woman in leather, and of a terrible tide of flame sweeping down streets and across rooftops. She flinched at the pain it carried with it, closing her eyes tight and hoping that haunting images would go away. Slowly she cracked an eye open again. The flashes were gone and sunlit hillsides of the country side were all that stared back at her. The pain remained however.

A nagging sensation at the back of her mind told her she was forgetting something. She had been here before, and recently too, but like everything else, the details were fuzzy and unclear. For a moment she thought she could smell a strange sulfuric scent on the wind, and the image of a man, broad and with dark hair mocking her from a chair before a roaring hearth, flashed unbidden in the back of her mind. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the only thing she could smell now was the sweet damp of the grass below her.

Something was not right with any of this. Why were her thoughts so thick and sluggish, like they were mired in tar? She could not seem to arrange her them correctly. Bits and pieces kept drifting to the surface; all half remembered feelings, sights, sounds and scents, but there was nothing she could sieze a hold of to center the rest around; nothing solid or firm for her to cling to.

With a shake of her head, she did her best to dispel the haze that had settled over her and tried to organize her mind. It took more concentration than she would have liked.

Looking around the landscape again, her eyes narrowed. This was definitely her home, there was no doubt of that. Her house stood as it had always done, a hundred or so meters away at the bottom of the sloping hillside, the village beyond framing it perfectly. Even though the surroundings precisely matched her recollection, there was still that same feeling of wrongness creeping in the back of her skull. She could not be here, but nevertheless, somehow she was. How had she come to be here then and if it could not truly be Cirra, then the question remained of where exactly here was. Perhaps this was Elysium.

Now why had that thought come to her?

Another memory floated to the surface, this time of two men...

She shook her head again.

...No, not men; gods! Zeus and Hades. There had been a deal. That she could remember now. Some kind of arrangement had been made, but what it had been was still elusive. Even as she tried to hold onto them, her thoughts began to drift again, and she turned to gaze down at the house that was supposed to be hers. Smoke was pouring from the farmhouse chimney, always a sure sign that her mother was cooking something on the kitchen hearth. Maybe she should go and speak with her mother. She would almost certainly have the answers Callisto was looking for.

She frowned again suddenly, as the strangeness of that thought dawned on her. Why did it seem wrong to assume her family were here? Again, the images of the dark haired woman and a roaring maelstrom of flame filled her mind. She knew what the fire was now; how it had scoured her house and her family from the face of the world, the same way it had the rest of the village.

A great sadness settled over her as she thought of it, and hot on its heels came the familiar biting pain and hate that she now remembered all too well. They were the most familiar things here, more so even than her childhood home, and she slipped into them as easily as a man slipping into his working clothes. Her family had been taken from her, and she had to see to it that the one who had done it was punished in kind.

Suddenly a single word floated in the corner of her mind.

Xena.

That was it! That was the missing piece that she so desperately needed to cling to. The dark haired woman! She hated Xena! Hated her with every fiber of her being, and every breath she took. She ached to see her broken and in pain!

Yes! She hated Xena more than anything else in the world...

...Did she not?

Again, the fog was returning to cloud her mind, and the image of Xena was becoming harder and harder to hold onto. The hatred still burned in her gut though, hot, scorching and fierce.

Without really thinking, Callisto twisted from her seat in the tree in a perfect backward tumble that carried her down to the thick grass below.

As she touched down, she flexed her toes instinctively in her boots. It was an old habit; one that dated back to when she had used to do this barefoot, and for a brief moment she felt the urge to kick off her boots and do the same now.

Gritting her teeth, she ignored it, instead setting off toward the house with its chimney now all but billowing great clouds of smoke into the pristine morning sky. The answers she was after would be in that house. She was certain of it. Now, if only she could remember the questions.

As she walked, the sky began to darken visibly. She glanced up and was surprised to see the sun not dropping toward the horizon as she had expected, but instead simply fading from view, as if it had never truly even been there. Even stranger though, was that the stars did not come out as the sky darkened, and the more she paid attention to it, the more she realised that it was not just the sky blackening, but the surrounding hills too. Slowly but surely the world around her was disappearing until only the tree, the house and the land in between remained.

She looked back toward the house again, and felt her stomach lurch sickeningly. Smoke was now pouring not just from the chimney, but from around the edges of the thatched roof too, and beyond the windows, she could make out the dull, flickering light of a fire. It was happening all over again! Everything was about to be taken from her. Well, she would not let it happen again... not this time... not if she could prevent it.

With a desperate cry of fury, she hurled herself forward at a dead run, her long legs eating up the final fifty meters or so to the house in a matter of moments. As she drew close to what she remembered as the kitchen door on the side of the house, she lowered her shoulder and braced hard, slamming into it with such force that the latch splintered and the door flew back on its inches to rebound off the stone wall with a loud crack.

Instinctively, Callisto reached up to catch the door as it ricocheted back toward and stared open mouthed at the kitchen before her.

There was no fire.

Not so much as a hint of flame, nor a trace of heat greeted her. The whole kitchen instead stood empty and quiet save for a single cup of fresh tea sitting on the table at its center. Again, that creeping sensation of wrongness was back, the odd sulfuric smell suddenly thick on the air all about her.

Without really knowing why, Callisto pressed on inside, running her long fingers over the stone kitchen counter and the various cups, pans and saucers that littered every surface until she was standing over the table. Warily, she reached down and snagged the cup of tea, lifting it and sniffing gently at the steam rising from the hot liquid inside. It was definitely tea. She lifted it gently to her lips and took a sip, wincing as she felt it burn her tongue. It tasted exactly how she remembered it should, strong but with a hint of lemon squeezed into it, just like her father had used to brew for her whenever she had taken ill with a chill.

Her hands tightened around the well worn mug, ignoring the heat of the tea inside even as it threatened to burn her, and then, with a furious scream of genuine despair, she turned and hurled it across the room so that it shattered against a nearby wall. Still screaming, she pivoted back toward the table, her leg coming high, then falling with the same force as an executioners axe, her heel catching the table dead center and splintering it in two with a loud crack. She reached down and grabbed one half of the shattered table firmly with both hands, ripping it from the floor and spinning it out away from her to launch it through the air at her mothers crockery cupboard. The cupboard tottered from the impact but did not break. Then, like a tree felled in the forest, it began to keel forward, smashing to the ground with a terrific bang.

Her anger still not satiated, she span and stalked toward the rows of cups and mugs arranged neatly on a nearby shelf, sweeping them from it with a single dismissive wave of her arm to accompanying crash of earthenware against stone. She snagged the final bowl from the shelf as it fell, spinning and whipping it toward the nearby kitchen window. The window exploded from the impact, scattering glass out into the yard beyond. She stood in silence for a moment, her chest heaving as she stared at the devastation she had wrought, and the with a final despairing cry, she collapsed back against the tea stained wall, sliding down it until she was sitting among the shattered cups and bowls, her knees drawn up to her chest and her head clutched tightly between in her hands, rocking herself back and forth as a strange combination of confusion and misery washed over her.

This was not real! Why was she here! Why could she never leave this place behind! Why did she have to carry it with her every where she went like some great lodestone around her neck?

Somewhere nearby, she heard someone laughing quietly.

She glanced up from her hands as a warm orange glow lit at the corner of her vision. Turning to face it, she could feel a thick sensation of dread beginning to take root in the pit of her stomach. It was the light of a fire again, only this time it was coming from beyond the stone arch and curtains that led to the living room and the house's front entrance.

She continued on toward it, each step harder to take than the last. She did not know what she would face beyond that archway, but some vague, hazy recollection told her that it would not be good. What would it be though? She wracked her brains trying to pierce the thick miasma that hung across her thoughts. This was her home, which meant that surely somewhere she would find...

"Mama?" she called "Mama, are you there? Papa? Please answer me if its you!"

All was silence as she drew up to the edge of her arch. The sense of dread in her stomach seemed to weigh a ton now.

"Mama?" she said again. "Papa?"

With a quavering hand, she reached out toward the archway.

It took more effort than anything she had ever done before to push that beaded curtain aside and pass beneath the stones into the living room beyond, but she still, she managed to do so anyway. Slowly the thick mists in her mind were beginning to peel back as she felt the answers she was seeking drawing nearer. She could not stop now, no matter what.

The living room beyond was not how she had remembered it from her childhood, but nevertheless it was familiar. It had been stripped of its usual furnishings and in their place, a thick red carpet had been laid out before a roaring stone fireplace. Two high backed chairs stood before the fire, each one casting long dancing shadows across the length of the room. One chair was turned to face the arch through which she had just entered, and now it was sitting unoccupied. The other was turned away from her and toward the fireplace. Someone was seated in it, but with the seat's high back, Callisto could not make out any of their features.

The sight of the chairs, combined with the sulfuric stink hanging heavy on the air triggered something inside her, and suddenly the fog obscuring her thoughts was blown away in an instant. Everything came rushing back in on her in a great wash of memories and she visibly staggered under the weight of it all.

She remembered everything now; Xena, the fire, her quest for revenge, and the dark downward spiral it had led her on. Then there came her many deaths, the deal with Zeus and Hades, Penthos, Sparta, Leonidas and all the rest. She remembered the temple of Artemis, defaced and filled with hate and suffering, and the tomb of Lycurgus with its long draped shadows and looming statues. She could remember the Followers, and Mortius, and how he had dropped her into that vast lake of stinking Pneuma. Lastly, and most of all though, she could remember that laughter, teasing and tormenting her, while Ares had stood beside her in the yard outside, a blazing inferno surrounding them on all sides.

Her eyes narrowed, sliding slowly from side to side. The God of War was here somewhere, watching and waiting. He had to be. There was no other answer she could think of.

"Ares..." she cooed softly. "Ares... Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Nothing stirred in the room, and the only sound was the dry crackle of flames in the fireplace.

Cautiously she began inching forward toward the chairs and their lone occupant.

"Ares," she said again, her annoyance beginning to grow. "I _really _don't have time for this, so why don't you just show yourself and snap your fingers again so that I can back to the world of the living and out of this fever dream nightmare. Then I can get back to saving Leonidas, stopping Cronus and saving all of your godly behinds."

Again there was no answer save the crackling from the fireplace.

"You know..." she continued as she drew nearer to the chair with its back turned to her, and to the figure sitting in it, "...what's the point of all this? Why keep showing me it? Are you trying to remind me how much I hate Xena? Is that what this is all about?"

She reached the seat and clasped her hands to the back of it, twisting it around to face her, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as she did so.

"I mean, it just seems like so much wasted effort," she continued, "I already know how much..." she did not manage to finish her sentence. The chair's occupant was not Ares as she had been expecting, nor were they anything like what she could have imagined.

Seated in the chair, reclining against the plush cushions, was a dry, desiccated corpse. The skin was wrinkled, yet pulled back tightly over the skull, the lips peeled back in a terrible rictus grin to reveal yellowed, rotting teeth. The raven hair that had once been so long and lustrous was now little more than tattered wisps, and the familiar leather bodice and skirt, with their curving gold worked breastplate, shoulder pads and wrist bracers, all hung limply from the shrunken body.

It was Xena.

Somewhere outside, she heard that same mocking laugh, but Calliso barely even registered it. Instead she reached out to touch the cold dead body in front of her in morbid fascination, her palm carressing the corpse's cheek almost tenderly. All this time, and all this hatred. She had imagined this moment time and again since Cirra had been destroyed, but now, just like when Hope had killed Solon, the peace she had expected to feel was elusive. Instead she just felt cold... empty...

"Ah! There you are my sweet!" came a delighted, mocking voice, and the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed ominously across the room. "I cannot tell you how much I've been waiting for this moment!"

Callisto ripped her hand back from the decomposing corpse in front of her and span to face the source of the voice. It's tone was one she recognised well, and she knew what she was going to see even before her horrified stare reached the new arrival. The fire of hatred in her gut began to flare hot and hard as her eyes met those of the newcomer, and the other's own eyes, large and brown, flashed with a keen and terrible madness in turn.

She had seen these features a hundred times in her dreams, and beyond that, every time she looked into a mirror or somehow saw her own reflection. It was her face that stared back at her, long and thin, with a sharp chin, high cheek bones, and a wild mass of long blonde hair framing it. That same thick hair was held back from her face now by two black leather braids, both the same colour as the leather battle dress that was fitted to her lean frame.

"You!" Callisto snarled.

The other her stepped deeper into the room, smiling cruelly back at Callisto, small, perfectly spaced white teeth shining sharp and shark like in the dim firelight.

"You indeed," her mirror image said.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, this the final edit to the whole story. Over the last couple of weeks I've proof read the whole thing and tweaked it in places. I've also added a large chunk to this epilogue as I really wasn't happy with it up until now. Soon I will go to work on part three in earnest as I've been mapping it out in my head while I've been working on this one.

Again in a big and sincere thank you to everyone who read and reviewed part two. Your kind words, encouragement, and honest criticism have been much appreciated and I hope you will all continue to read and enjoy later parts too.

Thank you all so much and I look forward to being back here again soon...


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